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THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 








\ 







* 



» 

V 




I 


/ 

The 

Radical Millionaire 


By 

LEAH C. SHEAR , 



o 


•> 


) 


) 


1923 

THE STRATFORD COMPANY, Publishers 
Boston, Massachusetts 







.=> 5 ^ 



B 


Copyright, 1923 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
Boston, Mass. 




( 


The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



1923 ■ l: 

©C1A704803 



■Ot O ’’y' 


Contents 


Chapter Page 

I The Two Brothers.1 

II The Birthday Ball.5 

III The Fatal Accident.15 

IV Richard’s Departure.21 

V Father and Daughter.27 

VI The Loss of the Westwood Home . . 35 

VII The Cottage.44 

VIII Alice Assumes Command . . . .51 

IX A Happy Christmas.59 

X Uncle and Nephew.65 

XI The Letter.70 

XII London Experiences.75 

XIII The Ruin of Ellsmere.88 

XIV In Labor’s Ranks.95 

XV The Snow Storm.104 

XVI Brought to Bay.112 

XVII A Visit to the Slums . . . . 124 

XVIII Introducing Dr. H. D. White . . . 133 

XIX A Trip to Philadelphia .... 144 

XX A Fortune Won.148 

XXI Love’s Awakening.155 

XXII Revenge.161 








CONTENTS 


Chapter 



Page 

XXIII 

The Courage of His Convictions . 

. 168 

XXIV 

Richard’s Oration 

• • • 

. 174 

XXV 

Found .... 


. 181 

XXVI 

Secrets and Revelations 


. 192 

XXVII 

Secrets and Revelations — 

Continued . 

. 205 

XXVIII 

Ellen .... 


. 213 

XXIX 

The Bunch of Violets . 


. 221 

XXX 

The Surprise 


. 226 

XXXI 

Overwrought Hearts . 


. 239 

XXXII 

Disappointment . 


. 254 

XXXIII 

The Rescue . 


. 258 

XXXIV 

The End of a Boy-dream 


. 262 

XXXV 

The Apple Tree 

• • 

. 266 

XXXVI 

True Friendship . . 


. 272 

XXXVII 

A Waking Dream 


. 279 

XXXVIII 

New Friends 


. 284 

XXXIX 

A Splendid Chance 


. 290 

XL 

The Diamond Pin . 


. 294 

XLI 

The Proposal 

• • • 

. 301 

XLII 

The Would-Be Assassin 


. 306 

XLIII 

A Delicious Sin . 

• • • 

. 310 

XLIV 

Our Love is so Heavenly 

• • • 

. 315 






















\ 










CHAPTER I 


The Two Brothers 

I N TPIE midst of a certain wide area of Pennsylvania’s 
elevated land stood one of those grand old mansions that 
was the pride and monument of a noble family — the 
Randolphs of Westwood. John Randolph, the present holder 
of this beautiful estate was justly proud of his palatial home¬ 
stead, for he, like its former owners, had kept pace with the 
progress of art and invention and the discoveries of science, 
utilizing the acquired knowledge of these in perfecting and 
protecting this monument of family stability and integrity. 
It was now the embodiment of his ideal — the combination of 
the useful and the beautiful. 

The country surrounding the lordly dwelling was as 
entrancing as Nature could produce. The distant lake, giv¬ 
ing the impression of inky blackness, served as a background 
to emphasize the charm of the scene with its ever-changing 
lights and tints. The grand old oaks fronting the mansion, 
the lawn of velvety green, the magnificent flower beds, 
artistically arranged here and there, the rich, dark-hued ivy 
that had clambered the full height of the wall and had now 
formed an arch around the entrance, and the rare and 
costly plants that ornamented the grand marble staircase, 
all contributed towards making the scene wonderfully pic¬ 
turesque and imposing. 

Within this beautiful home evidences of exquisite taste 

[i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


were everywhere apparent, though to achieve this, no sacri¬ 
fice of cosiness had been made. The impression was en¬ 
hanced by the hearty welcome and good cheer which awaited 
alike the invited guest and the chance caller. 

Although John Randolph never alluded to the fact that 
he was a descendant of English nobility, it was nevertheless 
known, that aristocratic blood flowed in his veins. There 
was much in his bearing that gave this credence. 

The first Randolph who had emigrated to America was 
an English nobleman who was ambitious and determined to 
make a name for himself in the Free Land of Endeavor which 
the new world offered. So one day he bade farewell to his 
native country and sailed for America and settled in 
Kingston, Pennsylvania. He possessed marked business 
ability and in the course of a few years amassed a consider¬ 
able fortune. 

His only child, a son, who inherited this wealth greatly 
increased it by purchasing land on which coal was dis¬ 
covered. 

He left two sons, Charles and John and upon the death 
of their father, the two found themselves equal heirs of the 
amassed wealth. 

The two brothers differed from each other as day differs 
from night. Charles, the elder, was the personification of all 
that typifies the word ‘‘aristocrat” and was very fond of 
worldly pleasures. He spent much of his time in traveling 
and partaking of the pastimes and diversions of young men 
of his class. 

The younger son, John, developed along a different line. 
He was of a more demonstrative nature and very studious 
with an unbounded love for books. A fever of ambition to 
study law filled his soul and upon reaching his majority, he 
entered upon an independent career as a lawyer. 

He had no inclination to be a coal-mine owner, so there¬ 
to 


THE TWO BROTHERS 


fore he sold his interest to his elder brother; and Charles, 
being of a restless disposition, had no desire to assume 
charge of the country estate and sold his interest in it to 
John. Thus the beautiful Randolph mansion which their 
grandfather had built came into his full possession. 

John Randolph was still in the prime of life and had 
an engaging personality. Always a kind-hearted man, he 
was happy in doing good and had boundless sympathy for 
the poor, the sinful and the suffering among men. A man 
of strong mental force and sound judgment, his aid was 
often sought in the settlement of estates and in other legal 
matters, even before he became locally famous as first among 
lawyers. In fact, in later years his intellectual keenness 
made him one of the most prominent men in the State. 

Mrs. Randolph, like her husband, was also a rare char¬ 
acter with a tender and loving nature. Although consider¬ 
ably more than forty years of age, she still showed unmis¬ 
takable traces of her dazzling, youthful beauty. Her face 
was always aglow with kindliness, and her smiles were as 
cheering as sunlight. She lived sincerely for the good of 
her family. Although there were many servants in her 
establishment, her hands were never idle, for she abhorred 
laziness. As there were many little duties in the household 
which a child could easily perform, she taught and encour¬ 
aged her children to be useful. Living among such whole¬ 
some, beautiful surroundings, they developed all the graces 
of mind and soul that were inherited from their ideal 
parentage. 

The oldest son, Richard, was a tall, sturdy fellow of 
twenty-four. His was an attractive face that once seen was 
forever fixed in the memory. His beauty, however, was not, 
as is often the case, dependent simply upon his physical 
perfection. There was something captivating and pleasing 
about his whole appearance, due probably, as much to his 

[ 3 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


innate nobility of character as to his stately form and finely 
cut features. His keen intellect, broad mind and gentle dis¬ 
position charmed all who came in contact with him, and won 
him numberless staunch friends. After he completed his 
college education, he entered law school in New York. His 
aim was to shine in the legal profession in order to continue 
his father’s work, and thus enable his father to take the 
well earned rest after a life of hard labor. 

The second child, Alice, was a charming girl of twenty- 
two, who was slightly above middle height and possessed 
a graceful form of unusual beauty. Her skin was dazzlingly 
fair; her eyes of blue being fringed with long dark lashes. 
Her soft, luxuriant hair was of chestnut gold and always 
hung in wavy confusion about her fair brow. The mouth 
was the most beautiful feature of her exquisite face; it was 
sweet and sensitive, yet at times, slightly scornful; but the 
scorn was softened by bewitching dimples that showed 
when she smiled. 

The third, Edgar was a bright, intelligent lad of thir¬ 
teen,—frank, loving and full of energy. There was another 
dainty bit of humanity living with the Randolphs, a little 
lass of about eleven, who being left an orphan in infancy, 
was adopted by Mrs. Randolph and reared as one of the 
family. Her name was Ellen. 


[ 4 ] 


CHAPTER II 


The Birthday Ball 

T HE day of the eagerly anticipated Ellsmere’s ball had at 
last arrived. It had been the principal topic of interest 
among the younger set of Westwood for a number of 
weeks. 

The festivities had been arranged to celebrate the twen¬ 
tieth birthday of Florence, the only daughter of Ralph Ells¬ 
mere who owned one of the nearby country estates. 

Among those who looked forward to the event with eager 
impatience was Alice Randolph. On this, the last day, she was 
unusually restless. Again and again she paused to look anx¬ 
iously through the window facing the main entrance, in order 
to catch the earliest possible glimpse of Richard, her brother, 
who was expected home to spend his vacation and who was 
also to attend the affair. 

Alice’s disappointment w T ould be two-fold were he to come 
late or not at all that day, as this was to be her first peep into 
society’s gaieties. Her father had urgent business in town and 
her mother was suffering from a severe headache and could 
not undergo the excitement of the ball room, so that Alice 
clung to the hope that her brother might arrive in time to 
escort her. At last she heard the sound of an auto-horn, and 
hastened to the door to meet her brother. 

“Oh, Richard, how glad I am you have come,” she 
cried. “Father is very busy, and Mother has a bad headache, 
and I was left without any one to take me to the ball! Will 
you ?’ ’ 


[ 5 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“What ball?” interrupted Richard, as he kissed his sister 
affectionately. 

“Didn’t you have an invitation to the Ellsmere ball?” 
she asked anxiously. 

“Oh, it’s the Ellsmere ball you are talking about,” he 
said with a twinkle in his eye. He knew full well what Alice 
meant, but he had always loved to tease his sister. “I really 
don’t know, Pussy, ’ ’ he resumed, calling her by the pet name 
he gave her when in exceedingly good humor. “I don’t know 
whether I care to go, as I feel rather tired after the shakeup 
of a journey.” 

11 Oh Richard, ’ ’ she exclaimed sorrowfully, “ it’s shameful 
in you to disappoint me after all,” and her lovely eyes filled 
with tears. But as she turned away she noticed for the first 
time a white box which she suspected held her bouquet. “You 
dear boy!” she cried, as she hastily opened it. “You are going 
or you would not have brought these lovely flowers. The 
violets are for me, aren’t they?” 

As he nodded assent, she ran to him and placing her 
beautiful arms around his neck, kissed him again and again. 

“Mercy,” he cried, don’t squeeze so hard, Pussy, you’re 
choking me.” After another kiss she ran to fetch a vase for 
the flowers. 

“Ah, and for whom are these exquisite roses?” she de¬ 
manded; and then with a roguish glance she said, “Oh, I 
know. You need not confess, your face tells the tale,” for 
Richard indeed blushed like a girl. 

“Richard, dear,” she said, lovingly taking his hand, 
“How did you guess that I wished for violets?” 

“Well, you see I have not forgotten the days of our child¬ 
hood when we used to go to the woods and pick flowers. Then 
your favorite flower was always the violet.” 

“Yes,” responded Alice, “and I shall never forget how 
angry you were the day I gave Henry White the bunch you 

[ 6 ] 


THE BIRTHDAY BALL 


had picked for me. I wonder,” she added after a pause, “what 
has become of him. Dr. Drake says he does not know his 
nephew’s whereabouts since he left college and went to Ger¬ 
many. ’ ’ 

“I can’t tell you, Puss. I have not heard of him since 
that quarrel about the violets. I have no doubt, however, you 
would even be willing to part with those I have brought you 
this evening if you chanced to meet him. ’ ’ 

It was her turn now to blush and giving him a mischievous 
look. She said, “but you would not quarrel over that now, 
would you?” 

He laughed and told her to go and dress if she really 
meant to be present at the ball. As a matter of fact he was 
more anxious to be there than Alice herself, for he was con¬ 
sumed with a desire to see the object of his affections, who 
was none other than Florence Ellsmere, for whom the roses 
were intended. 

While Alice was dressing, Richard started upstairs to see 
his mother but he was spared the trouble, for she met him at 
the foot of the stairs. She had heard his voice and was coming 
to meet him. 

Mother and son made a picture good to look upon as they 
embraced in the tenderest manner. “I am sorry to hear, dear 
Mother, that you are not well,” he said with concern, as his 
deep brown eyes rested lovingly upon her. 

“I am quite well now, Richard,” she said smiling. “It 
was only a headache and you have probably heard an exag¬ 
gerated account of my illness. But pray tell me about your¬ 
self. You are rather late. Your telegram led us to expect you 
at four o’clock.” 

“I will tell you everything later, Mother,” and with his 
usual gaiety he added, “I must have something to eat first; 
I’m awfully hungry. ’ ’ 

Taking his mother’s arm he led her into the dining room. 

[ 7 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


With quick perception she detected unusual joy in the smiling 
eyes bent so lovingly upon her as his arms rested lightly on 
the back of her chair. She gently put the brown wavy hair 
from his temples as she had often done in his boyhood as she 
said, “You are looking well, Richard, and I have never seen 
you look so happy before.” 

He flushed under the questioning eye of his mother, but 
returned her gaze with a steady affectionate glance as he 
replied, “Yes, mother, the sight of home brings with it a thrill 
of joy that no other spot on earth can awaken in my heart.” 

There was much truth in this, for on this very evening 
as he rode up the avenue to his birthplace, he had indulged 
in many a tender recollection; and yet, after all, there were 
hidden emotions in his heart that he had no courage to confess 
at this time. 

Mrs. Randolph’s face glowed with happiness as she 
warmly pressed his hand. 

‘ ‘ I am sorry that your father is obliged to be absent from 
home; he would have been so glad to have remained and wel¬ 
comed vou.” 

“It would have been more like ‘Home Sweet Home/ had 
he been here, but ‘business before pleasure,’ is a motto which 
he always put into practice. So I know he must have had good 
reason for his absence today.” 

Their conversation was here interrupted by the entrance 
of Ann, the cook, who brought in a very appetizing dish that 
had always been a favorite with Richard. As she placed it on 
the table she looked at him and smiled. 

“Ah,” he exclaimed, springing to his feet and holding 
out both hands, “Glad to see you, I am indeed.” 

The face of the woman, who was one of the old family 
retainers, kindled with delight as she responded heartily to his 
genial greeting. 

After dinner Richard went upstairs to put on his evening 

[ 8 ] 


THE BIRTHDAY BALL 


clothes and when he returned Alice was waiting for him. She 
made the loveliest picture imaginable. Her golden hair was 
exquisitely arranged and a delicate flush of excitement tinged 
her cheeks. Her gown of simple white clung like a cloud- 
wreath about her graceful form. 

As Richard entered the room Alice turned her big blue 
eyes brimming with mischief upon him. He was somewhat 
startled for he had never seen her so beautifully dressed nor 
so radiant. 

“Well,’ 7 he exclaimed, “I don’t wonder you took so long 
to dress; you have made yourself bewitching—irresistible!” 

Mrs. Randolph reminded them of the lateness of the hour, 
and as they had a long distance to ride before they reached the 
Ellsmere mansion, they bade her ‘goodbye.’ Having kissed 
them both she watched as they took their seats in the car and 
drove away, heaving a sigh of absolute happiness. 

When Richard and Alice arrived at Ellsmere’s, the ball was 
at its height, and the merry dancers were paying eager tribute 
to the entrancing music. Gracefully one bright couple glided 
past another, disappearing and re-appearing with exquisite 
grace of motion. The softly shaded lights, the perfume of 
flowers, and the shimmer of exquisite colors all blended 
towards producing an atmosphere rife with the joy and 
poetry of youth. Through the midst of the brilliant assembly 
Florence moved as the acknowledged queen of the evening. 
She was attired in a robe of cream-color silk crepe de Chine. 
As though realizing the futility and unwisdom of the effort, 
no attempt at ornamentation had been made except that in her 
dark hair nestled a red rose taken from the bouquet Richard 
had sent up to her. The remainder she had placed carefully 
in a vase in her own room. 

Florence Ellsmere was beautiful beyond fear of rivalry. 
Her face and figure evoked the admiration even of other 
envious belles. She had a brilliant complexion, and her dark 

[ 9 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


eyes were magnificent, while the small month and rounded 
chin were moulded to perfection. The usual expression of her 
face was sweet and engaging, her every movement expressed 
a lofty grace, and the beauty of a generous and sensitive 
nature gave added charm to an almost perfect face. 

Her father was the leading iron manufacturer and wealth¬ 
iest man in Kingston. His money had been acquired through 
such methods as are always open to the cold, calculating, for¬ 
cible man who is not troubled with a conscience, but has some 
means and plenty of perseverance. He was proud and haughty 
in his bearing towards dependents. His highest ambition was 
to amass millions so that it might be possible for him to 
purchase a title for his daughter. 

This elaborate affair had been planned as a first step 
toward the realization of his ambition. Among the honored 
guests was the English Lord Chandler whom Mr. Ellsmere 
had met at various functions, and whom he had invited to his 
home on the first convenient opportunity that had presented 
itself. The nobleman was not at all loath to be numbered 
among those favored with the friendship of Florence Ellsmere 
— an heiress and a beauty besides. 

Indeed no sooner had he set admiring eyes upon her, than 
this gentleman began to feel for her, pleasurable sensations 
warmer than mere friendship. But Florence did not seem 
conscious of it or if aware, did not care to consider seriously 
the intentions of the Englishman or her father’s evident desire 
that she favor him. 

In fact her avoidance of the gentleman in question was 
rather marked, much to the chagrin of both himself and her 
father who looked with much disfavor upon the attentions she 
so gladly accepted from Richard Randolph. 

Richard had sought Florence soon after entering the 
ballroom and she was now leaning upon his arm, listening 

[10] 


THE BIRTHDAY BALL 


attentively to his words, while the rich color crimsoned her 
cheeks. 

As the interest of the dancers deepened and all gave 
themselves up entirely to the pleasurable excitement, Florence 
and her companion had gradually escaped notice and had 
strayed out to the balcony, where for awhile they became 
oblivious to all around them. This was the opportunity for 
which Richard had been waiting. 

He had loved Florence with all the strength of his heart 
ever since she was a little girl of fourteen, and had spent 
short vacations at his home on visits to his sister Alice. Flor¬ 
ence and Alice had attended the same schools and the bond 
between the two girls strengthened with the years and it had 
been arranged they should pay alternate visits at each 
other’s homes. It was during Florence’s last visit that 
Richard had become conscious of his love for his boyhood 
comrade. Florence would scarcely have been human had 
she failed to divine his love — so unmistakable was it. He 
was always so kind, evincing such delicate consideration 
for her 'welfare that he won a warm place in her young 
heart; and she speedily realized that she never could care 
for anyone else as she did for him. Her visits at his home 
had been the happiest times of her life and Mrs. Randolph 
was her ideal of a mother. 

Mrs. Ellsmere had died when Florence was a mere child, 
but even though she had been reared under the influence of 
her father, she was wholly unlike him in character for she had 
inherited largely the nature of her mother who had been a 
woman of noble qualities. 

The moon was at her full and as the twilight ended she 
filled the heavens with her bright light — every twig and blade 
of grass shone forth as clearly as in daylight and so still was 
the air that the leaves on the trees were motionless. 

It was one of those clear calm nights that fill the hearts 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


of lovers with indescribable emotions bringing them into closer 
companionships than ever does the garish busy day. 

Although Richard and Florence had loved each other 
since they were children, as yet no word of love had passed 
between them — only in each other’s eyes they found a holy 
mystery, and when hand touched hand a strange thrill would 
move them both and send the warm blood rushing through 
their veins and make their breasts heave stormily with the 
beating of their young hearts. 

They were of those rare natures in which the passion that 
is known by the generic term of love, approached as near 
perfection as is possible in human hearts — their deep devo¬ 
tion for one another was pure, steady and divine. 

But as they sat there on the balcony hand in hand, a 
nameless change at that moment came over them — both in¬ 
stinctively felt that the time had come when they must give 
expression to their feelings. For some time they sat in silence 
— then Richard broke it. 

“Florence,” he said, huskily, “you know that I love you. 
Shall I tell you how dearly I do love you?” 

As Florence made no answer, fear of doubt took posses¬ 
sion of him — he was about to speak again but she stopped 
him with a gentle movement and then she spoke very low and 
musically, “No Richard,” she said, “it isn’t necessary. I 
know and feel it. ’ ’ 

The words flooded his heart with a great joy — its very 
sound was exquisite music to him — he lifted her hand to his 
lips and kissed it with passionate warmth. The sweet face that 
had withdrawn itself for a second drew nearer to him. Their 
eyes met and what she saw in his ardent gaze caused her to 
swiftly drop her own. For a moment he looked at her down¬ 
cast eyes and flushed cheeks then he gathered her in his arms 
and bending his head to the level of her own kissed her full 
upon her lips. 


[12] 


THE BIRTHDAY BALL 


“Florence, my beloved,” he whispered drawing her closer 
and closer to him. For one precious moment she nestled in 
his warm embrace and then she quickly disengaged herself. 
She heard footsteps and grew a little pale. 

‘ ‘ I think it is my father. Let us go in. ’ ’ 

At the door they came face to face with Mr. Ellsmere. 
Unconscious^ Florence shivered as she observed the heavy 
frown on her father’s face. He flashed an angry glance at her 
and addressed Richard in a very abrupt manner. 

“You are wanted in the library,” he said. “Dr. Drake 
is on the line and wishes to speak to you.” 

A cry burst involuntarily from Richard’s lips for he in¬ 
stinctively felt that a message from Dr. Drake, the family 
physician, at this time, could mean nothing but ill news from 
his home. In wild haste he ran to the library. 

Alice had grown weary of dancing and had seated herself 
near a window to enjoy the moonlight and the cool air. As the 
music sounded again, Harold Locke, a young man who was one 
of her steady admirers came up to her and said quickly, “I 
hope that you will honor me, Miss Randolph.” She was spared 
the necessity of replying by the approach of her brother 
Richard. Starting to her feet, she cried, “Oh what is it?” 
looking at him with great fear in her eyes for she saw that he 
was deadly pale and great drops of sweat were standing on 
his forehead. 

“Alice,” he said with colorless lips, “we are called home. 
Father has met with a fearful accident. ’ ’ 

At these words Alice sank to the floor as one stricken a 
mortal blow. Richard lifted his sister in his arms — she had 
not fainted but was as one nerveless and incapacitated by 
the terrible announcement. 

“Oh Richard, Richard,” she moaned as he lifted her to 
her feet. 


U3] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


His lips quivered but he said simply, “ Alice, shall I take 
you to the auto? Are you able to go home?” 

“Yes,” she gasped and taking his arm she staggered from 
the room. 

On his way out Richard’s eyes sought Florence’s. By the 
sad and horrified expression on her face he knew that she 
had heard the awful news and that her heart and soul sym¬ 
pathized with them, but this was not the time for words. 

The long drive home seemed unending to the anxious son 
and daughter. Such a drive it was! Every moment seemed an 
eternity. Alice could no longer control her emotion but clung 
to Richard and sobbed as though her heart would break. He 
tried in vain to soothe her but could offer no solace nor hope. 
His only prayer was that they might reach home in time to see 
their father before the end. 




CHAPTER III 


The Fatal Accident 

W HEN Mr. Randolph left home that morning he had 
told his wife not to expect him for two days as had 
important business that would keep him in town. She 
expressed the hope that he might come sooner — reminding 
him that Richard was to return that day after a year’s ab¬ 
sence. The father’s face lighted with happiness at the prospect 
of soon seeing his son. 

‘‘If at all possible, I will come sooner, my dear,” he had 
replied as he kissed her goodbye. 

He managed to transact the business much sooner than 
he had expected and planned to surprise his family by return¬ 
ing home that evening for it was natural for him to seek new 
means for making happy those whom he loved and his kindly 
face glowed with happiness as he thought of the greeting he 
would receive from wife and children. 

Going to the telephone he called his chauffeur. “Hello, 
Brown, I wish to return home tonight and will take the mid¬ 
night train. Will you please come to meet me?” 

“Did I hear you right, sir?” he asked, “you told me this 
morning you would have to stay in town for two days. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I accomplished my business much sooner than I expected 
and I want to surprise the folks.” 

On this evening about eleven-thirty, with light and happy 
heart, Mr. Randolph made ready to return home. 

He would be ungrateful indeed who did not enjoy the 
long ride through the woods after a tedious day of hard labor 

[ 15 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


in the city, and the man of business gave a sigh of relief as he 
took his seat in the auto after leaving the stuffy train, for he 
was tired and eagerly anticipated the soothing ride he was 
about to enjoy. 

Two miles from the Randolph estate the road made a 
sharp curve. As they reached this, they heard the sound of 
an auto-horn and running at terrific speed a large touring car 
approached from the opposite direction. 

Brown uttered a cry as he found himself face to face with 
the appalling situation. With an iron grip on the steering 
wheel he quickly turned into the side of the road to prevent 
the collision, but the headlight of the passing car was so 
strong that it blinded him and while this quick action of 
Brown enabled the other car to pass unscathed, the Randolph 
car crashed into a huge tree and was badly wrecked. 

With the exception of a few cuts on the face and hand 
from flying glass from the broken windshield, Brown had a 
miraculous escape but when he staggered to his feet and 
turned to see how it fared with his employer a cry of horror 
burst from his lips as he looked down at the fearful sight. 

Between the tree and the overturned car, Mr. Randolph 
lay in a pool of blood immovable and rigid as a corpse. 

Having been taken utterly by surprise, Mr. Randolph had 
had no chance to retain his seat and had been thrown out by 
the sudden lurch, his head striking the tree and fracturing the 
skull. 

“God have mercy on me!” cried Brown with a sob, “he’s 
dead! ’ ’ 

Tears streamed from his eyes and his big, loyal heart 
ached almost to breaking. An automobile approached and 
stopped not far from the scene of the accident. 

‘ ‘ What the Devil is the matter there ? ’ ’ growled the gruff 
voice of the man who drew up. 

[16] 


THE FATAL ACCIDENT 


Oh, Doctor, Doctor!” cried Brown all eagerness as he 
recognized the voice of Dr. Drake. 

The Doctor who was on his way home from a sick room 
quickly sprang from his car and hastened towards him. 

Beg pardon,” he said, “I did not know it was you, 
Brown, — what is the matter ? ’ ’ 

Brown made no reply but motioned towards the lifeless 
form of Mr. Randolph. 

“Great heavens!” burst hoarsely from the Doctor’s lips 
as he staggered back —but recovering himself instantly, he 
knelt down and carefully lifted the head of the injured man. 
After looking searchingly at it, he placed his finger on the 
pulse while Brown watched anxiously. Not a muscle of the 
Doctor’s face moved as he knelt there with his mouth firmly 
set. 

‘Ms he dead, Doctor?” asked Brown in a whisper. 

The Doctor shook his head, “No, but I fear there is little 
hope.” 

“Oh God, if one had to be killed why wasn’t it me in¬ 
stead of him?” wailed the unhappy chauffeur. 

“For heaven’s sake, Brown,” cried Dr. Drake impa¬ 
tiently, “stop arguing with the Almighty as to who should 
have been killed — be doing something. Take my auto and 
run home and bring a wide board that can be used as a 
stretcher — it will be better than the car — he must be care¬ 
fully handled. I will stay with him and do all I possibly can 
in the meantime. Bring men with you and hurry!” 

The Doctor’s orders were attended to promptly and in a 
very short time Brown was back with the stretcher and a few 
men who stood with frightened and awestruck faces waiting 
for the Doctor’s further orders. 

Gently, Dr. Drake with the assistance of Brown placed 
the wounded man on the stretcher and the anxious party 
walked home, two of the men attending to the automobiles. 

[i7] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Mrs. Randolph sitting alone in the library had followed 
her loved ones with fond fancy, thus entering into their 
enjoyment. Then her mind wandered to the two little ones 
asleep upstairs dreaming happily of the new present Richard 
had brought them. 

Again, her husband was the subject of her thoughts and 
she grieved that he should be compelled to spend the warm 
night in the city denied the comforts of home — somehow she 
could not make up her mind to retire although every one else 
had long since gone to bed. 

The clock on the mantel had struck the half-hour past 
one, when the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the front 
stairs caused her to start. The door bell rang. 

“Who can it be?” she thought for she knew if it was 
her husband he would not have thus heralded his return. 
Hastening to the door, she was confronted by Brown whose 
face was deadly pale. 

“Oh, what is it?” she cried with white lips and sinking 
heart. 

In a few words he related what had happened. Mrs. 
Randolph went past Brown and ran hurriedly down the steps 
but on seeing the lifeless form the men were bearing she 
uttered a piercing shriek and sank into blessed unconscious¬ 
ness. The Doctor experienced a feeling of relief that the un¬ 
happy lady should, even for a brief space of time, be spared 
the full realization of her husband’s condition. He ordered 
that Mrs. Randolph be taken to her room. The servants had 
aroused and crowded around full of anxiety. 

‘ ‘ Make way! ’ ’ cried the Doctor, ‘ ‘ don’t stand there like a 
lot of idiots.” 

The crowd parted solemnly before him and those carrying 
the burden. They entered Mr. Randolph’s room and laid him 
tenderly on the bed. The Doctor turned to the women who 
stood there with faces full of alarm. 


[18] 


THE FATAL ACCIDENT 


“ Bring me plenty of old linen and hot water and be 
quick,” he said. 

All were excluded except Ann who was to assist the 
Doctor and the door was closed. When at length the door 
again opened and I)r. Drake came out, the grave expression of 
his face frightened those who stood there — it betokened the 
worst. 

“There is no hope,” he said, “his injuries are fatal. But 
he may live for some hours.’ ’ 

At these words, Brown who was the first to hear the sad 
news wrung his hands — his grief was beyond expression — 
as the Doctor ’s verdict spread among the servants their lamen¬ 
tations were loud and prolonged. 

The Physician then sat down and telephoned to Richard. 
Next his duty was to look after Mrs. Randolph who still lay 
unconscious. He had the bed moved nearer the open window 
and told the attendant not to disturb her mistress until she 
should awaken and then went back to look at his patient. 

The Doctor’s prophecy was fulfilled — Mr. Randolph 
breathed his last before morning dawned. 

When Mrs. Randolph recovered from her swoon she tried 
to recall what seemed to have been a fearful dream. The 
weeping of Alice aroused her. She rose and tried to go to her, 
but a feeling of numbness rendered her incapable of moving. 
For a moment she looked at the kneeling figure, and then lay 
back and tried to think. Memory soon reasserted itself and 
at last she became conscious of her woeful condition and its 
cause. 

“It was no dream!” she moaned, and the heart-broken 
sigh that came from her lips spoke more eloquently than words 
the depth of her grief and apprehension. 

“Alice, my child, come tell me — is it all over?” 

Alice could not speak — her form shook with violent 
weeping. Richard entered the room at that moment and went 

[i9] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


directly to his mother and searched her wan face with anxious 
eyes. No words could express the pain and sorrow that was 
condensed into the cry that broke from him. 

“Why, oh why, should such a thing be?” 

The young man knelt beside his mother, his face con¬ 
vulsed with grief. His frame shook with the endeavor to sup¬ 
press his emotion, but he soon conquered his weakness, how¬ 
ever, and sought in every way to comfort his heart-broken 
mother. 

Mrs. Randolph did not speak for several minutes but 
silently mingled her tears with those of her children. Pres¬ 
ently she grew calmer and with lips strangely white, she mur¬ 
mured, ‘ ‘ Thy will be done. ’ ’ 


[20] 


CHAPTER IV 


Richard's Departure 

F OUR months have passed since the death of John Ran¬ 
dolph and all was still silent and sombre about the 
place. It was the first of October before Mrs. Randolph 
was again able to take up the duties of life. The time drew 
near for Richard to depart for his studies; his vacation had 
been one round of sorrowful experiences and duties. How 
happy he had been on the day of his return! What high hopes 
for the future had surged within him; and now a cloud had 
settled over the home of his childhood. His cherished father 
had passed away and he had not even the sad consolation of 
having been with him in his last moments. He felt, as have so 
many others, that, had he only seen and talked with him before 
his death, he could have borne the parting better. 

At times the yearning for his idolized father became 
almost insupportable. He could not yet realize that he was 
dead. It seemed utterly impossible that the noble-minded, 
dearly-loved man was never again to return to their sacred 
family circle. 

“Oh, it can not be — can not be!” he would cry in his 
anguish. The unhappy young man had still another cause 
for grief. 

During all these months he had not seen Florence alone. 
In the early weeks of their bereavement, his mother’s condi¬ 
tion made it impossible for him to leave her. In the meantime 
Mr. Ellsmere had made known his intention of sailing for 
Europe at an early date, taking his daughter with him, and 

[21] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


had seen to it that there had been no opportunity for a chance 
meeting between her and young Randolph. Richard had faith 
in Florence, for he knew she opposed her father’s plans but 
all her efforts to oppose this trip were in vain. Her father 
laughed at her confession that she loved Richard. 

“A child’s folly,” he sneered. “Wait until you have 
seen more of the world — you will then think differently. ’ ’ 

Preparation had been made to set sail on the very day 
that Richard was to leave home to resume his studies. It was 
hard for him to refrain from visiting Florence before he went 
to New York. He had left her abruptly without a word of 
parting on the night of the ball, but he knew she forgave him 
the omission and understood that the imperative call to his 
father’s death-bed, for the moment, allowed no thought of 
any one else to intrude. How he longed to have a moment with 
her before she sailed. Realizing that this was impossible, he 
was walking up and down the room with a growing sensation 
of heaviness in his heart. Mr. Ellsmere’s opposition to him 
was a serious obstacle, but added to this was the fact that the 
death of his father had imposed new duties upon him. His 
ambition to shine in the legal profession had resolved itself 
into a stern duty and he knew that for years he could not take 
a wife. He questioned his right to rob Florence of the oppor¬ 
tunity of making a brilliant match in the meantime and, with 
his chivalrous conception of honor, he determined to sacrifice 
his own happiness and make no attempt to see her and leave 
her free. 

‘ ‘ Another half-hour and I shall have to say goodbye. How 
lonely home will be. Oh, father, father! he cried out in his 
anguish. He who had always studiously avoided exhibiting 
emotion lest it might increase his mother’s and sister’s sor¬ 
row, now felt himself overcome by an overpowering grief. 
His wonderful self-command forsook him and the tears began 

[ 22 ] 


RICHARD’S DEPARTURE 


to fall in spite of himself. Gradually he recovered self-control 
and impatiently dashed the tears from his eyes. 

“No more of this,” he said firmly, “I must be cheerful 
for their sakes.” 

The doorbell rang and a moment later he heard the voice 
of Alice, “Oh, Florence, I am so glad to see you.” 

How his heart beat at the mention of the name he loved so 
well. He listened for the sound of her voice, but the door 
closed instantly and he could hear no more. 

“Shall I go down and see her?” he asked himself over 
and over. “How could I speak to her without referring to 
that fatal night. 0, God ! help me in this r— lam but human.” 

Love and duty were fighting a fierce battle in his heart. 
The longing to see her overshadowed every other emotion and 
with beating heart he started down the stairs but stopped as he 
reached the door. 

‘ ‘ I can not and must not see her, ’ ’ he murmured with pale 
lips. “I dare not yield to the promptings of my love — I have 
no right to think of her now. ’ ’ Returning to his room he gave 
himself up to contemplation of the sad prospect. So absorbed 
was he that he was unconscious of the approach of his mother. 
She stood near him for few moments regarding him quietly 
and then she laid her hand gently on his arm and bent to look 
into his face. 

Richard started and looked up. 

‘ ‘ My boy, ’ ’ she exclaimed, 11 why do you look so strangely ? 
Are you ill ? ” 

“Don’t be alarmed, mother,” he said as he rose and took 
her hands. “I am quite well. It is only a slight headache. 
Perhaps I have been reading too much lately,” and with a 
look at his watch he added, “it will soon be time for me to 
leave you.” 

“Yes,” she replied, as the tears leaped to her eyes, “I 
had come to tell you the car is waiting. 

03 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Then I had better go at once if I mean to be in time 
for the four o’clock train.” 

He took his mother’s arm and both walked down the 
stairs. Alice met them at the library door. She smiled mis¬ 
chievous^ and said, ‘ ‘ Richard, do you know Florence is here ? 
She came to say goodbye as she is going to New York tonight 
and tomorrow she and her father sail for Europe. Will you 
go in and see her before you leave?” 

His face grew suddenly grave. Lines of pain settled 
around his sensitive mouth and all color left his face. There 
was a brief moment of awful silence. 

“I am very sorry, Alice, but I have not a moment to 
spare. ’ ’ 

She looked into his face with a half-frightened expression 
in her eyes as she exclaimed, “Why Richard! to judge by your 
looks, one would think this was an unpleasant surprise, 5 ’ little 
realizing the pain her words gave him. But he made no reply 
to her, and turning to his mother, he said, “I must go now, 
and please make some excuse for me to Miss Ellsmere.” Ten¬ 
derly he put his arms around his mother and kissed her. His 
father’s mantle of kindness seemed to have fallen upon him, 
the mother thought, as he caressingly soothed and whispered 
words that were balm to her aching heart. 

Alice gazed at her brother with astonished eyes. 

‘ ‘ Come kiss me quick, Pussy, ’ ’ he said, endeavoring to be 
cheerful, ‘ ‘ I will miss the train if I am delayed much longer. ’ ’ 
He drew her toward him and kissed her affectionately. ‘ ‘ Tell 
Florence that I will write her,” he said quietly, and he made 
his way as rapidly as possible towards the door. 

His evident purpose was to gain the automobile without 
further interruption, but his eager gaze which searched every 
window as he passed was arrested, and with it his steps as he 
beheld the well-known figure sitting in a recess of the library 
window. The face was so near the pane that the dark curls 

[ 24 ] 


RICHARD’S DEPARTURE 


rested on the sash. Would he pass her without a word? 
Florence seemed to be absorbed in a book that lay in her lap, 
but she became conscious that someone without was intently 
regarding her, and in an instant she discovered Richard. He 
noticed each changing expression on her face; perplexity, sur¬ 
prise, delight, as one succeeded the other. 

She did not utter a sound — neither spoke — but as she 
involuntarily arose, he lifted his hat gallantly, bowed to her 
in farewell and walked slowly past. 

Florence sank back into the seat and watched the car 
drive away, with a sinking heart. She was overwhelmed with 
the strangeness of his act — had he changed, did he repent his 
love? 

She had respected the delicacy that had kept him silent 
those few months following the death of his father; she under¬ 
stood why he had not sought her at home, but surely now — in 
his own home — he should have said a parting word to her. 
What other reason could there be for his behavior to-day? 
And yet, Florence was so true that she struggled bravely to 
retain her faith in him. 

When Alice re-entered the room, Florence was so absorbed 
in her painful thoughts as not to be conscious of her approach. 
She was unable to move for some moments after the automobile 
had passed from her sight; her head throbbed and her heart 
seemed utterly crushed. When Alice made known her presence 
Florence started and laughed nervously. 

“How you startled me, dear!” she cried, “I must have 
been lost to time and sense not to hear your step. I was think¬ 
ing— ah, never mind, I will tell you some other time.” 

Tears gathered in her eyes as she said this and her lips 
trembled. Alice could see that the fingers which toyed with 
her handkerchief twitched nervously. She regarded Florence 
sadly, profoundly touched by the sorrowful expression on her 
beautiful face. She knew as well as if Florence’s lips had told 

[25] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


her, that Richard had been the perplexing problem that had 
occupied her thoughts, and that her present sorrow was caused 
by his behavior, and hastened to give her Richard’s message 
that he would write to her. 

Mrs. Randolph soon came in to offer some excuse for 
Richard’s departure without saying farewell to her. Florence 
murmured a few words as if she willingly forgave him. Never¬ 
theless the mother was positive that some hidden hurt tortured 
the girl’s heart. But so overcome was she by her own grief, 
that she felt she would not be a good consoler in the time of 
sorrow and she left the room to hide her emotion. 

Florence soon bade her friends farewell. A deep sigh 
came from Alice’s lips and two big tears escaped beneath her 
long black lashes and rolled down her cheeks and fell upon the 
hand that lay within her own in so warm a clasp. Thus they 
parted, each with aching heart — one mourning still the loss 
of an idolized parent and longing for her brother — the other, 
grieving for a lost lover and wondering at his inexplicable 
conduct. 


[ 26 ] 


CHAPTER V 


Father and Daughter 

O N her way home, Florence met her father who was driving 
to the great iron works in Kingston of which he was the 
sole proprietor and in which he took great pride. She 
had never been through this mighty plant and as her father 
was bent in that direction, she asked leave to accompany him. 

On gaining his consent, she sent her own car home and 
took a seat by her father’s side. 

“Your dress will not be improved by contact with the 
iron and coal dust, ’ ’ he said. 

“I shall be careful,” she replied. 

They drove to one of the dingiest streets in Kingston 
facing the massive gates of “The Works.” Mr. Ellsmere could 
hear the clink of the hammers and the sound was music to his 
ears. These works were his kingdom; here was the source of 
his wealth and here he reigned supreme. 

The multitude of blackened faces, the clang of engines, 
and the roar of furnaces, where the keels of mighty ironclads 
and the connecting rods and cranks were welded, impressed 
him as the emblems of strength and power. He had given no 
notice of his coming and it seemed to him that the manager 
who came to meet him was less effusive than usual. His face 
wore a troubled look which Ellsmere’s quick eye instantly 
perceived. 

“This is hardly a good time for you to visit the works, 
sir,” he said. 

“Why, what is the matter now?” sternly demanded the 
owner. 


[ 2 7 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Our men are on the point of a strike,’’ replied the 
manager. 

“Bah! That’s an old story. I’ve heard it too often, in 
fact every time I come here. The men are always hatching 
mischief. The strike is always coming, but thus far it has 
not come.” 

‘ ‘ Until now you have had an extraordinary influence over 
the men, but since you have refused to accede to-” 

“To demands which I consider outrageous and which I 
shall never grant,” interrupted the owner. 

The manager bowed submissively. “You know best,” he 
replied, “but I assure you there is great danger. The damag¬ 
ing sentiment is gaining ground in the factory that the richest 
works in Kingston pays the lowest wages. ’ ’ 

“I suppose we can get other men if these strike?” 

“Not a man in the whole state.” 

“Why not?” 

“Our men are all strong unionists.” 

“Did I not give you orders to employ no union men?” 
protested the plutocrat. 

“Labor was scarce last winter and we were obliged to hire 
men regardless of whether they were union or non-union men. 
And now we must give them what they ask or prepare for a 
strike. ’ ’ 

“Never!” cried Ellsmere excitedly, “I’ll shut down the 
works before I’ll give in one jot to their demands.” 

“Anger is short-sighted,” said the manager respectfully 
but firmly. ‘ 1 A system which answered admirably a few years 
ago is beginning to work awkwardly now. The modern work¬ 
man is hardly grateful, no matter what rate of wages he 
receives, since living is so costly.” 

‘ 1 Confound them! they are a lot of discontented, ungrate¬ 
ful heathens always craving more money to spend on drink 
and other follies. ’ ’ 


[28] 



FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


Mr. Ellsmere then told the manager he was going away 
for a few months and wished him to execute his orders 
promptly and exactly. 

‘“But, Mr. Ellsmere,” protested the manager with con¬ 
siderable show of feeling, “can you not give some considera¬ 
tion to this matter and allow me to raise the wages before the 
men strike?” 

“I have said I will shut down the works first — we will 
not discuss the matter further.” Turning to Florence, he 
said, “I have brought my daughter to visit the works not to 
listen to the usual tiresome strike cry.” 

The manager closed his lips grimly and led the way. 

Florence looked about with wondering eyes. She noted the 
sullen aspect of the men, down whose faces streamed the per¬ 
spiration caused by the intense heat from the furnaces — heat 
that belched forth as from the mouth of hell. She heard more 
than one muttered sarcasm from their lips as they passed. 

Discontent was written on every feature of their smoke- 
blackened faces, but she did not blame them — she pitied their 
condition and sympathized with their demands. It pained her 
to note her father’s indifference to the cry of the unfortunate 
men who were compelled to toil from morning till night and 
still struggle for existence. 

“Why can not father pay more, has he not enough?” 
she thought bitterly. “The money he gives me in one year 
would keep many of them in comfort for some time. ’ ’ 

A fearful cry of agony arrested their steps as they were 
about to leave the building. Mr. Ellsmere hurriedly returned 
followed closely by Florence and they soon discovered the 
cause of the anguished cry. One of the workmen had come 
up to speak to the manager a moment before and had stepped 
aside to permit Mr. Ellsmere and his daughter to pass out. 
The aisle was narrow and he made a miss-step. Before he 
could recover his balance, his sleeve was caught in the belt of 

[ 29 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


a great wheel near by and he was carried off his feet. Drawn 
towards the wheel that would grind him into a shapeless mass, 
the man fully realized his danger and again a fearful cry for 
help rang from his white lips. Mr. Ellsmere might have 
reached the man but he seemed paralyzed with horror. 

Florence, who had cried out in terror for someone of the 
workmen to save the man felt someone brush past her and the 
next instant it seemed as though another victim was to be 
sacrificed. 

The man who thus risked his own life to save another had 
seized the belt and was almost lifted from his feet but with 
veins swelled to bursting he tore at the belt with the strength 
of a giant and succeeded in slipping it from the wheel. The 
workman was quickly drawn from danger and, although his 
left arm and shoulder were badly crushed, he was alive. When 
Florence turned to the stranger with words of praise for his 
heroic act, surprise rendered her speechless for she looked into 
the eyes of Richard Randolph. In the dim light, she at first, 
did not recognize him. 

Richard had lingered so long in his leave-taking that he 
had missed his train after all. Rather than wait at the station 
for the next train, he had concluded to drive into the city and 
while passing the Iron Works, he had heard the cries within. 
With full knowledge of the danger that menaced the men from 
defective machinery he had lost no time in entering the 
building. 

When she saw the man was Richard, the remembrance of 
his strange behavior at his home a short time before and the 
presence of her father checked the words that rushed to 
Florence’s lips. 

“I am very grateful to you, Mr. Randolph,” said Mr. 
Ellsmere uneasily. “It was a brave thing to do — you are 
fortunate to escape unhurt.” 


[3o] 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


Richard contented himself with bowing gravely in re¬ 
sponse and then turned to Florence. 

She impulsively held out her hands with a gesture of 
appeal. Richard caught them hungrily in his own and held 
them as though he feared being robbed of the pleasure their 
soft pressure gave him. The warm touch thrilled him and his 
bosom was torn with conflicting emotions. He could not, how¬ 
ever, hide the love light that shone in his eyes, and it revealed 
to her the depth and honesty of his feeling for her. 

He had so longed to hear her voice that when at last she 
spoke the sound was as sweet as music to him, although her 
words were merely commonplace as she thanked him for his 
heroism. 

“It was nothing, Florence,” he replied in protest, con¬ 
trolling his voice with an effort. “Any of the workmen would 
have done the same. I am glad I missed the train and was able 
to render this service.” 

Mr. Ellsmere now briskly reminded Florence of the late- 
less of the hour and Richard hastened to take leave of them. 
At the door he paused, looking back and with a final glance 
of mingled love and sorrow, he disappeared. 

“He is so noble and so proud,” sighed Florence as she 
watched his departure. ‘ ‘ But he loves me — his eyes tell me 
that and yet, knowing father does not favor his suit, he is too 
proud to acknowledge his love to me.” 

The impatient voice of her father interrupted her melan¬ 
choly meditation. 

“Of what are you thinking?” he asked almost in anger. 
“I have called you three times and you have not paid the 
slightest attention.” 

Florence’s reply was a question which somewhat startled 
her father—“What are you going to do for that poor injured 
man ?’ ’ 


[3i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Oh, some of the men have carried him home. He’s all 
right! ’ 5 

“But are you not going to send a doctor and some money 
to his family to aid them until he is again able to work?” 

The owner of the works laughed outright as though 
amused at her foolish questions but he was far from feeling 
comfortable. 

“You are so childish, Florence,” he said, “if I were to 
send doctors, nurses and money to every man who gets hurt 
here, we would soon land in the poor-house. Liability insur¬ 
ance takes care of them.” 

“Do accidents like this occur very often?” she asked 
with a shudder. 

“Often enough on account of their own carelessness. 
There would have been small chance for life for this fellow 
had it not been for that reckless hero of yours,” he went on 
deprecatingly, “how blindly the young rush into danger in 
order to attract attention and gain notoriety!” 

Florence flushed painfully at her father’s unkind words 
and all that they implied. She understood perfectly well that 
it was Richard’s natural desire to aid those in distress that 
had prompted his act. Without reference to her father’s 
insinuation, however, she continued to ply questions that 
greatly annoyed him, although he answered as if willing to 
gratify a childish curiosity. 

“What becomes of those men whose injuries disable them 
from earning their living for the rest of their lives ? 

“How should I know? I suppose they manage somehow 
to get along,” was the reply. 

“And what becomes of the poor widows and children of 
those men who lose their lives in such accidents ? It seems to 
me that the employers should pay them a pension, such as the 
government pays to the widows of soldiers.” 

“I’ll be blest if I know why you bother your little head 

[32] 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


about these affairs/’ said her father, hardly able to control his 
temper. There are plenty of charitable institutions they can 
go to, I suppose. ’ ’ 

Florence made no reply, but she was outraged at her 
father’s indifference. It was no mere childish curiosity that 
prompted her to ask those questions. The fact was that her 
interest had been aroused by a book Richard had given her as 
a birthday remembrance and which dealt with the world of 
workers and their problems. 

“Then it must be a fact,” she thought as she recalled 
several statements the author had made, “that thousands of 
lives are recklessly sacrificed for the sake of profit; that poor 
men and women are thrown aside after a life of toil that has 
exhausted their strength and rendered them useless to the 
employer they have faithfully served.” 

Mr. Ellsmere then stepped aside to leave some last order 
with the manager and Florence seized the opportunity to ask 
one of the workmen for the address of the injured man. 

“John Baker, 34 North Street,” was the reply. 

Mr. Ellsmere returned to the auto thoroughly exasperated. 
“The working classes are becoming impossible,” he said as 
he leaned back in his seat. “Iam glad to be out of their sight. 
The idea of a gentleman having to be subjected to contact with 
them! ’ ’ 

“Those people are only fighting for their rights,” said 
Florence earnestly. “You can not expect them to work for 
the same wages all of the time if the cost of living goes up. ” 

Mr. Ellsmere’s surprised look seemed to say, “Where in 

the devil has she heard all this?” 

Aloud, however, he simply said, ‘ * Don’t bother your head 
about all this nonsense. A girl of your age could have very 

little judgment about such matters.” 

“I am twenty, Father,” she replied with a faint smile, 
{c and at this age I think I am capable of forming an opinion 

[33] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


on this matter. I really think yon are unjust. Forgive me, 
father, but it is pitiful to see those men so hard at work to 
make you rich, for if they did not labor for you, you would 
certainly not be the possessor of so much wealth.’’ 

“Nonsense child, what do you know about it? You have 
had no such dealings with them as I. The more you give these 
people, the more they want.” 

“Home at last,” he exclaimed as the car drove up to the 
magnificent mansion. He was glad to escape Florence’s re¬ 
marks, which of late she had indulged in frequently and was 
considerably troubled at her train of thought. Besides, the 
sullen faces of the men haunted him all the way as he drove 
home in the twilight. 

“Florence,” he said as he looked at his watch, “we have 
barely time for tea. Run up and dress; there is only an hour 
before train time.” 

The girl made no reply. She was utterly indifferent to 
these arrangements for her future. She knew that Richard 
loved her and that was all she cared about. 

One hour later, however, they were on their way to New 
York. But before leaving home, Florence had not forgotten 
to write a sympathetic note to the Baker family, which, to¬ 
gether with a generous cheque, she enclosed in an envelope 
and mailed in the letter box at the station. 



[34] 


CHAPTER VI 


The Loss of The Westwood Home 

A FORTNIGHT had passed since Richard’s departure. 
Mrs. Randolph sat in the library in deep mourning. 
Her sad eyes were unnaturally large and surrounded 
by dark rings, for the great sorrow had affected her delicate 
system and expressed itself in every move and contour. The 
library had always been her favorite room and had become 
still dearer since her husband’s death. Every object in it 
recalled his affection for her and brought back vividly the 
kindness of heart that had always characterized him, for there 
was not a piece of furniture there — not even a book — that 
had not been selected by him to please her. 

She sat near the table reading. Alice was near her, em¬ 
broidering a black-bordered handkerchief. She was more 
beautiful than ever in a black gown cut high in the neck and 
with long sleeves which set off her shapely figure to advantage. 
Her hair was brushed plainly over her temples and her pale, 
sad face won the sympathy of all who saw her. 

A footstep in the hall attracted their attention and Alice 
went to the door. 

“Dr. Drake is here, mother, and wishes to see you.” 
“Have him come in here,” replied Mrs. Randolph, won¬ 
dering what had brought him at that unusual hour. 

The doctor had a kind, benevolent face with a head 
almost bald. His whole manner was such as to inspire confi¬ 
dence and he was not only the family physician, but faithful 
adviser as well in all matters pertaining to their welfare. 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Good morning, Doctor/’ said Mrs. Randolph as she 
came forward to meet him. 

‘ ‘ How are mother and daughter this morning ? ’ ’ he asked 
blandly. I must insist upon both of you taking morning 
exercise. You need fresh air.” 

A look of pain came into Mrs. Randolph’s eyes, as if the 
mere mention of the outside world was agony to her, but it 
was gone in a moment. 

“We are quite well, Doctor,” she answered. 

“I am very glad to hear it,” after which he fell into an 
ominous silence. 

His manner was so foreign to his usual communicative 
one that a feeling of vague uneasiness filled Mrs. Randolph’s 
mind. 

“You have something to say to me, Doctor, have you 
not?” 

“I have, my dear lady,” was his reply, “and it is most 
unpleasant news. Can you bear it?” 

She smiled faintly. ‘ ‘ I can hear anything now. ’ ’ 

“I have come,” he said hesitatingly, “because it was 
impossible to delay longer.” 

Mrs. Randolph’s heart beat faster as she heard such 
serious words; her mind was in confusion. 

“Doctor,” she exclaimed, “pray speak out, this suspense 
is worse than the truth can be.” 

As he took a package of papers from his pocket, Mrs. 
Randolph’s nervousness increased every instant. 

“I have called in the capacity of executor of your late 
husband’s estate, Mrs. Randolph,” he began in a low voice 
and then with apparent embarrassment, he continued, “I re¬ 
ceived a letter yesterday from the president of the People’s 
Savings Bank of Kingston, which reveals a most painful state 
of affairs. 

“It seems that a year previous to your husband’s death, 

[36] 


THE LOSS OP THE WESTWOOD HOME 


the treasurer of the Mutual Trust Company, without the 
knowledge or consent of the bank officials and directors, bor¬ 
rowed of the funds of the bank, large sums of money — far 
exceeding the legal limit. He used this to finance all sorts of 
speculative enterprises in which he was the controlling factor 
and which has resulted in great losses to himself and the bank. 

“Not only were these many investments failures, but 
some were illegal transactions. 

“In order to save the treasurer from imprisonment and 
his family from disgrace, your husband, as president of the 
bank and its biggest shareholder, sacrificed not only his own 
capital and interest to prevent the calamity but also borrowed 
from the People’s Savings Bank a very large amount of 
money, for which he gave as security a one-year mortgage- 
note on his estate. As large as this was, it did not incon¬ 
venience him as he kept this a secret not wishing to cause you 
needless worry. Although it left your husband practically 
penniless, he was a man who never gave way to despair,—as 
you and I know — and doubtless he hoped to straighten mat¬ 
ters out in time.” 

“You are mistaken, doctor, in thinking my husband kept 
this secret,” said Mrs. Randolph. “I recall the day when 
he conferred with me about this unfortunate affair and I 
agreed with his plan for saving the treasurer from disgrace, 
and placed my signature on the mortgage and note having full 
confidence that Mr. Randolph’s income from his large legal 
practice would take care of the indebtedness.” 

“I have made investigation in regard to money due him 
for legal services and to my surprise found that it would have 
been more than sufficient to clear this mortgage debt, but here 
is where the crisis appears,” said Dr. Drake: 

“Messrs. Harper & Harrington, merchants of Phila¬ 
delphia, who owe your husband a large sum for legal services 
went bankrupt three weeks ago. The other debtors of your 

[37] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


husband ask for time to settle on account of business depres¬ 
sion the country is facing. It would not be advisable to 
demand prompt payment from them as we have not the means 
of settling things in court.” 

Mrs. Randolph was overcome at the doctor’s report and 
after a long silence she said, “No, it would not be advisable 
to force payment even if we had the means. Mr. Randolph, 
had he lived, would never have taken such method of collect¬ 
ing debts, and neither would I. ’ ’ 

“I know,” replied Dr. Drake, “that you would consider 
it out of the question that I take proceedings against them — 
but — what is to be done ? ’ ’ 

“Is there no other way that we can raise money to pay 
off this mortgage, or get an extension of time until we find a 
way?” she asked. 

“I inquired of the bank commissioner, Mr. Harris, if 
there was any outlook for getting some money from the 
Mutual Trust Company and he said there was not. Your 
husband’s sacrifice was like a drop in the ocean. Since his 
death everything in the bank has gone to pieces and it is 
likely to be closed at any time.” 

“The People’s Savings Bank which holds the mortgage 
on your property, would give you a six month’s extension of 
time for one-half the amount, providing we could pay the 
other half but all my efforts to raise the money in such a 
short time have been in vain.” 

“Then we are utterly ruined?” asked Mrs. Randolph in 
a voice tense with emotion. 

“Yes, my friend. God help you!” replied the Doctor. 

With white face and eyes brimming with hot tears which 
she tried in vain to suppress, Alice had listened to the Doctor’s 
recital. When he had finished, she arose and winding her arms 
lovingly about her mother, murmured with lips that quivered 
piteously, “Dear, dear mother!” 

[38] 


THE LOSS OF THE WESTWOOD HOME 


‘ ‘ Is that notice of the foreclosure ? ’ ’ asked Mrs. Randolph 
pointing to the letter which Dr. Drake still held in his hand. 

“Yes, madam. This notice left me no time for delay. The 
mortgage money was due last week and if it is not paid within 
three weeks, the place will be sold at auction. ’ ’ 

A slight shudder passed over Mrs. Randolph. “We are 
positively beggars then — without money or home, ’ ’ she mur¬ 
mured more to herself than to the others. “My poor children! 
1 could have borne my own misfortunes, but the thought that 
they, too, must suffer, is unbearable.” 

“Don’t distress yourself on our account, mother dear,” 
said Alice tremulously. “We can share our sorrows and help 
lighten the burden, ’ ’ and with a faint smile, she reminded her 
mother how careful she had always been to teach them to be 
useful and willing to work in the event of any such emergency. 
Kissing her mother again she left the room, for in the effort to 
speak calmly she felt she must break down if she lingered 
another moment. 

“Don’t you think, Doctor,” said Mrs. Randolph after a 
painful silence, “that the sale of the property may bring in 
a little more than the mortgage calls for? Just enough to pay 
Richard’s school expenses? You know he is deeply immersed 
in his studies and were he to have to leave them and forego 
his ambitious plans for a great and useful future, I fear it 
would break his heart.” 

‘ ‘ I fear there will be little left, ’ ’ said the physician sadly. 
“You see, my friend, your husband was too liberal with his 
money. He spent large sums on schools, hospitals, libraries 
and other charitable institutions for the Westwood people,— 
which they hardly know how to appreciate—” he muttered 
below his breath, “and,” he continued, “when the trouble 
came in the bank, the heavy liabilities he undertook, will, I 
fear, sweep away everything you possess even to the household 
goods.” 


[39] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“ Doctor/ ’ said Mrs. Randolph presently in a broken 
voice, “will you tell me how long you think we will have to 
prepare for removal?” 

‘ ‘ From what I can learn, the sale will probably take place 
within a month. I shall, of course, be with you and may ask 
for a room for the night preceding the sale.” 

The good doctor had his own motive for wishing to be 
present when the place that had been the pride of a noble 
family for so long, should pass from their possession. 

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Randolph, “if you will see that 
we are fairly treated in this matter, you will render us a very 
great service.” 

The doctor rose to take his leave. He was deeply moved 
to note the courage with which Mrs. Randolph bore her mis¬ 
fortune and taking her hand, he said, “God help you, my 
friend.” 

As he left the room he met Alice in the hall and she 
motioned to him to step into her own sitting room. Here she 
showed him a savings bank pass book. 

He looked at her inquiringly and she replied to his gaze, 
“This represents all my savings since my fifteenth year. I 
have never had occasion to spend the money as I have always 
been provided with all luxuries as well as necessaries. ’ ’ 

“You mean,” interrupted the doctor, “that you did not 
wish to spend it. Many girls at your age would have disposed 
of ten times that sum.” 

“And,” she continued, not regarding his last remark 
except a heightened color, “if I have the right to keep it, 
I shall be so glad for mother’s and Richard’s sake.” 

“The right to keep it!” exclaimed the doctor, “why that 
is your own personal property. These people will be content, 
I should hope, with your father’s entire estate! By Jove,” he 
w T ent on, pacing up and down the room in his anger, ‘ ‘ I wish 

[40] 


THE LOSS OF THE WESTWOOD HOME 


I had the swindler who robbed your father of all his posses¬ 
sions. I’d cane him within an inch of his life.” 

Alice said nothing. It was too much to expect of human 
nature that she should undertake the defense of those who had 
reduced them to such abject poverty. 

“I shall be glad to keep my savings,” she said simply, 
“I think they will be enough to pay Richard’s expenses at the 
law school and perhaps there will be a little left for our own 
use until I find something to do.” 

4 4 What is that ? ’ ’ demanded the doctor, as though he had 
not heard aright. 

‘‘A great many young girls support themselves and fam¬ 
ilies — some by teaching school. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The devil! ’ ’ burst from the old physician’s lips — for 
the idea of one so luxuriously reared as Alice, having to earn 
her own livelihood, deprived him of his self-command. 

“But that’s all I am fit for, I fear,” said Alice, mistaking 
his meaning. “Do you really think I am not qualified for it?” 

“It is not that, my dear, but it will kill you. Teach 
school? Why, you are a mere child yourself. You do not 
know what you say ? ’ ’ 

“I must do that to help,” she said, making a feeble at¬ 
tempt to smile, “as long as I am able to work. You see I have 
no foolish prejudices against labor.” 

“You may call them foolish prejudices, and in one sense 
they are — and yet your plan is the worst possible — espe¬ 
cially here. I fear there will be few chances of your getting a 
position worth while.” 

“I shall do my duty regardless of consequences,” replied 
Alice. 

“You’re the real thing, Alice!” exclaimed the old man 
as he took her hand in his own a moment and then left her. 

Over his cup of tea that evening, Dr. Drake expatiated 

[4i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


to his wife on Alice’s courageous resolution to support the 
family by teaching school. 

“Laura,” he said gravely, “I am sometimes forced to 
believe that there is no justice in heaven, when misfortunes 
like this can overtake such people as the Randolphs.” 

“Yes, they have aided many in distress — and now who 
knows what privations they may have to undergo ? ’ ’ answered 
Mrs. Drake. “One could hardly believe it possible that such 
wealthy people as they were, should so suddenly lose their 
all,” she added. 

“They are not the only ones who have been utterly ruined 
under such circumstances,” replied the doctor bitterly, “I’ve 
heard of more than one case where men went to sleep rich 
and woke the next morning poor as church mice.” 

Then he continued after a pause. ‘ ‘ As for the Randolphs 
I am almost positive that had Mr. Randolph heeded my advice 
things would not have turned out so badly. I warned him on 
several occasions against giving his money away too freely, 
but he never paid attention to what I said, and I have always 
entertained a fear that some day his family might have to face 
poverty. Now my fears have been realized much sooner than 
I expected — far too soon for that good, noble family.” 

Tears coursed down his cheeks as he spoke. The good 
doctor was too deeply grieved to attempt to conceal his feel¬ 
ings. He walked to and fro in his agitation, but finally stopped 
short at his wife’s chair. She too, was weeping softly to 
herself. 

“Don’t cry, Laura,” he said, moved at the sight of her 
tears. “After all it’s wrong for me to talk as I did. It was 
always his way to help the needy, and, believing as he did 
that every one should live on the fruits of his own labor, he 
did not place much value on the wealth he inherited. The 
world called him a radical — a free-thinker — because he 
never went to church — but I know he was a true Christian 


[42] 


THE LOSS OP THE WESTWOOD HOME 


through and through. Besides laboring for his own needs, 
he worked for humanity as well. And for what grander cause 
can a man labor! Ah, the death of such a man is a great 
misfortune to the nation. His kind is rare.” 

“To the poor especially, is his death a sad misfortune 
indeed. They can ill afford to lose such a benefactor,” said 
the doctor’s wife, wiping her eyes. 

About a week later, Mrs. Drake said to her husband, 
“Don’t you think, William, we could contrive some way to 
assist them ? Scheme somehow that Alice would not be obliged 
to teach school ? For instance — if you could enlist the aid of 
some wealthy Westwood residents who have been such close 
friends of the Randolphs, and could contrive some tactful 
scheme from which, together with our little savings, would 
accrue some means for their support, perhaps—” 

“God forbid!” interrupted the doctor, “you know what 
proud people the Randolphs are. Why, they’d prefer to 
starve rather than allow their poverty to be known and com¬ 
miserated — not to mention acceptance of aid in any form 
whatever. Besides, even considering your proposition these 
so-called friends can not be relied upon. They will help and 
then they will talk about it at every available opportunity. I 
had proof yesterday of how much may be expected of them. I 
was walking with Alice talking over the new state of affairs 
with her, when we met a young lady, accompanied by her 
mother, close acquaintances of Alice’s. Now what do you 
think occurred? They carefully turned their heads from us 
as they passed, affecting not to have seen us. Alice smiled 
bravely but I knew how the cold demeanor of her one-time 
warm friends pained her. My dear, it’s all too true, that when 
we laugh the world laughs with us and when we weep, we weep 
alone.” 


[43] 


CHAPTER VII 


The Cottage 

T HE sale of the Randolph estate had taken place, and the 
doctor’s fears were justified, for the sum realized was 
scarcely sufficient to discharge the claim. Mrs Randolph 
bore her misfortune bravely, but her health was now shattered. 
This calamity following so closely upon the death of her hus¬ 
band, had reduced her to a sadly nervous condition. Upon 
Alice now largely devolved the task of arranging for their 
future. 

In the family consultation after the sale, Alice strongly 
expressed a determination to withhold from Richard their 
exact condition. 

“He would of course insist upon giving up his studies 
and seeking work, ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ That would not mend matters 
much, for he could not hope to secure a good paying position 
at first. If we can get along two years without such a sacrifice 
from him, he will then be in a position to take dear father’s 
place in the world and our future will be secure.” 

The tears started to the mother’s eyes, for it pained her 
inexpressibly even to consider the sacrifice Alice proposed. 
At first she protested that she could never agree to one child 
bearing the burden of the entire family. 

‘ ‘ If there is suffering in store for us, we must all bear our 
share of it alike,” she said. But at last, after repeated per¬ 
suasions on the part of Alice, she gave reluctant consent to 
the plan. 

Dr. Drake, too, when he was made acquainted with 

[44] 


THE COTTAGE 


arrangements, was far from willing to encourage them — 
though what plans to substitute for them, he was utterly at a 
loss to suggest. As was his habit, he poured his troublous 
thought into the ever-willing ears of his wife. 

“Laura,” he said when he returned home after the sale, 
“my heart aches at the thought of the sacrifices that noble 
girl means to make. She is undertaking to support Richard 
unknown to him, while he is preparing for his career, when 
it is undoubtedly his duty to work for them all. It is not easy 
to understand why those two noble, high-minded women, by a 
trick of fortune, should suddenly^ be forced into conditions 
entailing a life of common drudgery and privation. I know 
what the change will mean to them — I have been poor myself 
— but there! ’ ’ he exclaimed, ‘ ‘ I must be off to see my 
patients. Isn’t it provoking, Laura, that now I wish to devote 
most of my time to the Randolphs, so many people have taken 
it into their heads to adopt la grippe?” 

The day after the sale the Randolphs went to the good 
doctor’s house, where Mrs. Drake received them in her own 
hospitable, cordial manner. Here they remained a week, for 
neither the good physician nor his wife would consent to their 
leaving sooner, however much and often Mrs. Randolph and 
Alice urged it. A home must first be determined upon before 
the guests were to dream of leaving the shelter of his roof, 
he insisted. 

In seeking a small house suitable to their means, Mrs. 
Randolph suddenly bethought herself of a little cottage which 
she had happened to see on her way to a sick friend one day. 
It was situated in a rather out-of-the-way place but it had 
attracted her attention because it looked so picturesque in 
spite of the neglect of the shrubbery surrounding it. It was 
just the place she would like to live and bring her family — 
to be away from everybody. She said nothing to Alice about 
it but on the following day went to inspect the place — 

[45] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


determined to make it their home if it were at all available. 
As she walked towards her destination her thoughts had 
ample time to wander back to the days when she had driven 
in her car to this very neighborhood to dispense charity 
among the needy. What a gulf separated that happy past 
from the dark present! She heaved a sigh at the thought. 

At last her long walk came to an end. She neared the 
little cottage which was just visible at a bend in the road. A 
slight shudder passed over her as she noticed the hopelessly 
deserted air of the place. 

“I wonder if anyone has taken possession of it in these 
weeks/’ she thought, but as she drew nearer the signs of 
neglect convinced her that it must have been vacant for many 
years. The doors were locked but on the “TO LET” sign — 
yellow with age — she could barely make out the address of 
where to apply for the key. After studying this for some time 
she was able to decipher the name of the real estate agent who 
had charge of renting the cottage. Fortunately she was not 
far from the railroad station — there was no time to lose if she 
was to take the next train to Kingston. She did not have to 
wait long and with a mental appeal to God for strength to face 
bravely the realities of life and their situation she went on the 
train. She had no difficulty in finding the real estate agent. 

“Yes, she could have the cottage and everything in it for 
very little rent.” 

“Could the owner do a little repairing?” 

“Perhaps, if there was a chance of finding him.” He 
had had the key ten years and should the cottage be let the 
rent was to be sent to a lawyer who had charge of the owner’s 
finances — that was all he knew about it. 

“Why had the cottage been vacant so long?” Mrs. Ran¬ 
dolph asked. 

‘ ‘ There seemed to be a superstitious rumor that the place 
was haunted because the young couple who had last lived in 

[46] 


THE COTTAGE 


it, died within a week of each other and their baby had dis¬ 
appeared,” was the reply. 

Mrs. Randolph shuddered but she soon recovered and told 
the agent that she decided not to trouble with the repairing 
— it might be too much time delayed. She paid a deposit and 
taking the key, left the office, anxious to reach home before 
night-fall. She had scarcely crossed the threshold when Alice, 
pale and anxious, came hurriedly towards her, for she had 
been seriously alarmed at her mother’s long absence. 

“My darling mother, where have you been all this time?” 
she asked as she reached her side. 

“I have had a long walk and a long ride,” Mrs. Randolph 
replied calmly, “ and I have found a place to which we can 
move next week. ” In a few words she informed Alice where 
their future home would be. 

The girl’s blue eyes searched her mother’s face earnestly 
as she listened. A chill crept over her, but she said nothing. 
No words could express the horror she felt at the thought of 
making their home there, although she bravely fought against 
this weakness or showing any sign of it. Many an hour that 
followed she passed in secret weeping, but in the presence of 
her mother she was always calm and hopeful. Her fortitude 
won from the doctor and his wife a still greater depth of love 
and admiration. 

As the busy man was about to leave the house the next 
morning, Mrs. Randolph came to meet him at the door with 
the request that he would kindly look up a paper hanger and a 
painter as she wanted to do some repairing for their new home. 
“I wish to have everything done before I take my children 
there.” As she spoke she handed the doctor a small sum of 
money. “This is all I have left,” she said smiling faintly, 
“and I hope that there will be enough for the cost of the 
repairs. ’ ’ 

Dr. Drake refused to take the money and told her he 

[47] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


would attend to all that was necessary to make the cottage 
habitable, “and as to the expense, we will settle that later,” 
he said as he hurriedly left the house. 

A few days afterwards he told Mrs. Randolph that every¬ 
thing was under way and that she could occupy her new home 
the next week — should she still insist on leaving his home 
where both he and Mrs. Drake would be happy to have them 
remain indefinitely. She thanked him for his kind offer but 
thought it best not to take advantage of their hospitality 
since they had found a suitable place in which to live and it 
would be wise to settle themselves without delay. They moved 
to their new home the following Monday. 

Mrs. Randolph was greatly surprised at the change she 
found in the appearance of the little cottage. Her good friend 
had spared neither time nor expense in having everything 
about the place made to look more cheerful, and even the out¬ 
side had been painted a light gray with white trimmings. 
Alice who had not seen the dilapidated appearance at first 
was much pleased. 

“Why this is not so bad, after all,” she exclaimed. “The 
people who lived here must have possessed refined tastes and 
been well off judging by the artistic arrangement of the rooms 
and the costly furniture. I wonder what happened that they 
should move away and leave all these pretty things behind.— 
0 look, mother,” she cried, “here is a bookcase full of all kinds 
of books — German, French, Italian. I can see where I can 
revive my language studies. They certainly must have been 
foreigners and educated people.” 

Mrs. Randolph wondered, too, for she thought of the 
tragic story the agent had told her about the young couple 
who were the last occupants of the cottage and the disappear¬ 
ance of their child. Again she shuddered but she did not 
mention a word of this history to Alice. 

When Alice went into the parlor and saw a piano she 

[48] 


THE COTTAGE 


danced for joy—“Mother, mother! come quick and see what 
I found.” 

When Mrs. Randolph came in and saw the piano she was 
just as happy about it as Alice. “To think,” she said, “that 
we can have a little music. It is almost too good to be true.” 
And her thoughts wandered to the grand piano they had left 
behind in their beautiful home. 

11 See, mother, how nicely polished it is, and even in tone, ’ ’ 
as her fingers lightly ran over the keyboard. ‘ ‘ Dr. Drake must 
have done this,” she continued, “how kind and good he and 
Mrs. Drake are to us. In what way could we ever repay them 
for their thoughtfulness ! ’ ’ 

“I’m afraid, Alice, that we never could repay them,” 
said Mrs. Randolph, “but one thing we can do and that is to 
show them our appreciation. Perhaps when Richard shall have 
accomplished what we hope he will, there may come an oppor¬ 
tunity when we will be able to show them our gratitude.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance 
of Edgar and Ellen, with cheeks aflame and panting as a result 
of the work they had done. 

“I have cleared away lots of sticks and stones from the 
lawn,” said Edgar proudly. 

“And I helped you, didn’t I, Eddy?” cried Ellen. 

“Of course you did — who said you didn’t?” he an¬ 
swered hastily and angrily. 

“Oh, Edgar,” said his mother reproachfully. 

“Well you see, mother, I didn’t want her to help me, for 
I like that kind of work myself,” he said, “but she insisted 
and I couldn’t help it so I let her do it.” 

“Then you should have been thankful to her,” said his 
mother. 

Alice could hardly refrain from laughing aloud for she 
knew the outcome of such a dispute. 

Edgar’s love for Ellen was very deep, and his chivalrous 

[49] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


nature soon made him repent his unkind behavior towards 
her. In a few moments he went over and kissed her, saying, 
“Well, Ellen, I hope you will forgive me this time.” 

Alice left the room silently laughing while Mrs. Randolph 
busied herself about supper, realizing that in these beautiful 
children she still had much to be thankful for. 




CHAPTER VIII 


Alice Assumes Command 

T HE following day the doctor came to tell Alice that he 
had obtained a position for her as teacher in the Lincoln 
School. 

“It is interesting to know that you are to teach the 
seventh grade in the very school your father built in this 
neighborhood twenty years ago. Previous to that time, the poor 
people here were compelled to send their children to the 
Westwood Public School which is a long distance away and 
the little ones were kept out of school half the time, especially 
in winter, because they had not sufficiently warm clothing to 
go out in the cold weather. Your father’s generosity opened 
the way to a better education for them, and I hope they will 
now, in their maturity, show their appreciation of his noble 
work by extending his daughter their sympathy and support.” 

“How far is the school from here?” the girl asked 
eagerly, after thanking him sincerely for his effort in her 
behalf. 

“About a mile and a half,” he replied, “and it is 
pleasantly situated in a grove of magnificent oaks and has 
also a large field in the rear for a playground. 

“Oh, I am so glad,” she exclaimed, “and I am really 
anxious to begin my work. When am I to start?” 

“Next Monday,” he replied and wishing her success, and 
with a kindly pressure of the hand, and “remember me to 
your mother,” he took his leave. 

At last the day arrived when Alice stood face to face with 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


her pupils and as she looked at the little faces before her, her 
heart sank and the young teacher could with difficulty re¬ 
strain her tears. It was truly a pathetic scene; the girls, many 
of them, looked wan and hungry — were for the most part 
poorly-clad and evidently poorly-nourished. They eyed her 
suspiciously, whispering meanwhile and presenting anything 
but a reassuring spectacle. The boys, more noisy and boister¬ 
ous, were standing about in groups, some quarreling and using 
coarse language in utter contempt of authority. Others were 
jumping over the seats like young savages — all were ap¬ 
parently oblivious of the fact that they were in school and in 
the present of their teacher. 

‘ ‘ Can I ever reduce this confusion to order ? ’ ’ she groaned 
inwardly, and, for a moment, the wild idea of giving up the 
position flashed upon her. But the image of her mother — and 
Richard — forced perhaps to give up his bright hopes, and 
the two younger children who needed her support, rose before 
her and urged her onward. In addition to these considera¬ 
tions, a certain something in her strong, untried nature, served 
to dispel the momentary depression and to incite her to fight 
her battle to the finish and overcome the difficulties confront¬ 
ing her. 

Before the morning passed, by her winsome manner, she 
had won the regard of the turbulent school. She appealed to 
the boys’ gallantry; she made the girls feel as if she was a 
companion to them and not one who criticized their faults 
and failures, but one who encouraged their slightest effort in 
the right direction. She kept the idea of their worthiness ever 
before their minds, watchful of the slightest act that might 
merit approval. 

At recess, she joined in the children’s play, so unob¬ 
trusively, and so heartily that she quite won their confidence. 
Not much work was accomplished that first day, but she 
labored to keep the restless hands and bodies employed in 

[52] 


ALICE ASSUMES COMMAND 


tasks that absorbed their interest and made them for the time 
being, forgetful of their mischievous intentions. A few were 
there who resisted her benign influence but they, too, feeling 
the spirit that pervaded everybody, soon fell into line and 
eventually became the young teacher’s staunch supporters. 
But all this was not accomplished in an hour. There was more 
than one occasion during that first depressing day when she 
was obliged to use all the firmness she could muster to deal 
with some persistent disorderly youngster. However, when the 
afternoon session closed, she had the satisfaction of seeing a 
far more orderly class file out than had entered in the 
morning. 

On their return to their homes that afternoon, expressions 
such as these, might have been overheard, “Say, did you see 
how bully she handled that Johnson feller?” “And did you 
see,” chimed in another, “how she tried to show us how to 
play basket ball ? ’ ’ 

“She’s great,” concluded a group of youngsters who had 
been excitedly discussing the merits of their new teacher. 

More than one child declared that evening at the supper 
table that their new teacher was the nicest lady they had ever 
seen. 

Weary, but satisfied with her day’s effort, Alice returned 
home and rendered a cheerful account of her day’s work to 
her anxious mother. A letter had that day been received from 
Richard. He had seen a statement in a newspaper that their 
Westwood estate was about to be sold at auction. Anxious, 
anguished questions regarding their financial affairs filled his 
letter. Could such a dreadful condition be a fact? He be¬ 
trayed his great fear that the statements had not been exag¬ 
gerated. His missive closed with these words, “In heaven’s 
name answer at once — tell me the exact situation or I shall 
come home immediately.” 


[53] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Mother,” said Alice, when she had read the letter, “I 
wish to answer him myself — will yon let me ? ’ ’ 

“My dear child,” replied her mother as she realized 
Alice’s intention, ‘ ‘ of what avail to keep the truth from 
Richard any longer since he already knows so much. He will 
get it from others, if not from us.” 

“There is no harm in his knowing part of the truth,” 
replied Alice, “but he must not know all.” 

“I can not allow you to make this sacrifice; Richard 
would never forgive me for permitting you to work for him. ’ ’ 
“Never mind what he will think about it, mother, it is 
only for two years anyhow. After the time shall have passed 
and Richard returns an accomplished lawyer, think how proud 
of him you will be,” and so saying she knelt at her mother’s 
feet and playfully placing her hand on her lips, made her 
listen while she pleaded that she be allowed to answer the 
letter in her own way. In spite of herself, the mother felt 
compelled to give in once more to the loving persistence of 
Alice. 

Richard was made very uneasy by the news he received 
from Alice. Carefully guarded as the wording was, his first 
impulse was to go home — but upon reflection he decided to 
take the advice of his sister and complete his education. 

“You will serve no purpose by coming home,” she had 
written, “since we are so well provided for as to be able to 
live comfortably for some time to come. You can do much 
more for our future if you remain and complete your course. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She is right, ’ ’ he thought, ‘ ‘ I can do very little for them 
at present except to work at such a salary as I fear would do 
little towards supporting a family of four.” He inferred from 
his sister’s letter that enough had been saved to allow them to 
live comfortably by economizing, and so he resolved to remain 
and work harder than ever. The great question of duty took a 
strong hold upon him-ambition kindled his soul into a 

[54] 


ALICE ASSUMES COMMAND 


flame and he felt impelled to renew his efforts by the changed 
condition of affairs. He had faith in his ability and hope 
painted her bow across his future. He was anxious to gird on 
the harness for a life of toil and imbued with the strength of 
his resolution, he devoted all his time to his studies, surpris¬ 
ing his fellow students as may be inferred from a conversation 
which took place between hours — 

“I say, Locke, what’s the matter with Dick Randolph 
lately ? He ’ll be killing himself with work soon, foolish fellow 
that he is.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What I say. But really, what has come over him?” 

“Well he had better give up this steady drive at his books 
or he ’ll be a dead man before long. ’ ’ 

“Not he,” put in a third, “I’ll wager Randolph will hold 
out and pass Al. He’s a splendid scholar and will make a 
great lawyer.” 

11 It will be no surprise if he does, ’ ’ said Locke in rather 
jealous tones, “any fellow who spends all his time with his 
books, without even taking a glimpse of sunlight, must be sure 
to meet with success if he can keep it up long enough.” 

“But,” said the first speaker, “Randolph always got the 
highest honors even when he did not give nearly so much time 
to study.” 

“What’s up with him now then?” said the third student. 
“You should have seen him today — he looked fagged out and 
was mopish and short with us.” 

“You know his father died last summer,” said one who 
had come up in time to hear the latter part of the conversation, 
4 4 and he took it hard. Lately, too, they have lost their fortune 
— so it is said — and it was his sister who persuaded him to 
keep on with his studies.” 

At the mention of Richard’s sister, young Locke started. 
He had first met Alice at the Ellsmere house during one of her 

[55] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


visits to Florence and had been deeply impressed with the rare 
charm of her character and beauty. He was not accustomed 
to being denied anything upon which he set his heart, con¬ 
sequently he had hopes of winning her love without difficulty. 
When he saw her at the Ellsmere ball, he had fully determined 
to propose to her at once but circumstances did not arrange 
themselves favorably for his intention, and instead he had sent 
her a written proposal. The language in which the offer of 
marriage was couched had offended her and his letter remained 
unanswered. He felt this keenly but still had hopes of some 
day winning her affections or at any rate, her consent to be¬ 
come his wife. He hoped to use Richard’s influence in his 
behalf but in this he was disappointed. The boys had attended 
the same school for years — but Richard heartily disliked 
Locke and made his feelings apparent by open coolness towards 
him. This attitude coupled with Richard’s acknowledged 
superiority in the class work, formed the basis of a deep hatred 
towards him on the part of Locke — an animosity that showed 
itself in spiteful speech and action whenever occasion offered. 


[56] 


CHAPTER IX 


A Happy ChpvIStmas 

A FEW days before Christmas at the supper table, Edgar 
wistfully said, “Oh mother, I wish we could have a 
turkey for Christmas since we did not have one for 
Thanksgiving. Does it cost much?” 

Mrs. Randolph’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with 
tears, for Edgar’s wish brought back memories of the past, 
when they used to distribute all manner of good things among 
the poor at this season. Little had she thought at that time, 
as she deplored local conditions and the hopeless prospects of 
a cheerless future of many of the country folk, that she herself 
would some day be placed in position identical with their own. 

Edgar soon regretted that he had spoken, for he saw that 
his mother was greatly troubled. Alice tried to joke about the 
matter by telling him that he must not wish for the moon, but 
she kept the tears back with difficulty as she spoke. 

The night before Christmas, Mrs. Randolph lay awake 
thinking of her inability to gratify her children’s wishes, for 
she knew that all of them were desirous of celebrating that day 
in spite of the change in their financial condition. It would 
cost but little, and yet on making calculations of expenses, 
she reached a result that terrified her. By practicing the 
strictest economy and limiting herself to the positive neces¬ 
sities, she knew there would be a deficiency by spring, even if 
Alice was to work steadily. The idea of debt was terrible to 
her and yet she saw no way of avoiding it unless Richard — 
but she allowed her thoughts to go no further. 

[57] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


At midnight, just as she was sinking into a disturbed 
slumber, she thought she heard a noise in the kitchen as if 
someone was trying to unbolt the door. Starting up, she 
listened intently, but the sound was not repeated. Concluding 
that she had been dreaming, she lay back again and gradually 
fell into a deep heavy sleep such as follows periods of sorrow 
and mental anguish. 

Ellen had noticed the increasing sadness and thoughtful¬ 
ness of her mother during the few days since Edgar men¬ 
tioned turkey. She blamed him for not using more common 
sense. He should have known better, she thought. 

Ellen had not the slightest idea of the fact that she was 
an adopted child. The beautiful girl had grown to the age of 
eleven years, gentle and loving, w T ith a character that was daily 
unfolding new beauties. To an unusual degree she had the 
spirit of self-sacrifice or yielding her own wishes and submit¬ 
ting cheerfully to minor disappointments and privations. 
Having noticed the struggle for existence in her home, she 
knew that the money Alice earned was scarcely sufficient to 
pay the weekly bills, and she had determined to help. Often 
when she was supposed to be playing out of doors, she was 
running errands for the neighbors and thus accumulating a 
little sum of money. 

The day before Christmas, Ellen went to the grocery store 
and after looking wistfully at the elaborate display of 
poultry, she asked the price of a turkey which she thought 
would be the weight which the family would need. 

“Four dollars and twenty-five cents,” said the man, 
giving her a sharp look. 

“Four dollars and twenty-five cents! Oh, what joy. There 
would be quite a little left for goodies — apples — raisins — 
and perhaps nuts — too. Her little face beamed with happi¬ 
ness as she gave the order. The clerk placed the things on the 
sled she had brought with her and she reached home un- 

[58] 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


noticed. She put the bundle in a safe place and after supper 
she went upstairs and waited anxiously for the time when all 
should have retired. When she had convinced herself that 
everybody was asleep, she crept noiselessly out of bed and stole 
down stairs — opened the door as quietly as she could and got 
her treasures and carried them to the kitchen. 

The bolt of the door made a noise and it was this sound 
that had half-aroused Mrs. Randolph from her troubled sleep. 
In the morning the parcel was the first thing that met the 
mother’s astonished eyes. As she beheld the neck of the turkey 
peeping out of the package, she saw the hand of providence 
in this realization of her desire as clearly as if the gift had 
dropped from heaven. 

Not for many weeks had anything been so heartily enjoyed 
in the little cottage, and Mrs. Randolph’s pleasure in watching 
her children’s delight in the feast was indescribable. Once 
more they were partaking of a generous and delicious dinner 
and the fact that it was a real Christmas meal, enhanced their 
enjoyment. Little Ellen was silent most of the time but no 
sooner was she left to herself than tears of joy flowed freely. 
How few, far more advanced in years, would have displayed 
the delicacy and unselfishness of this child of eleven, satisfied 
merely with the consciousness of well-doing. This was but 
one of the many occasions when she rendered much needed 
assistance to the family and all was done in her quiet, un¬ 
obtrusive way. 

The gift of the turkey was a problem which Mrs. Ran¬ 
dolph was unable to solve. She wished she could discover the 
donor who had so tactfully avoided recognition and the sub¬ 
sequent need of accepting thanks. She was much inclined to 
suspect Dr. Drake as the culprit, but feeling assured he had no 
knowledge of the extremity of the poverty to which they had 
been reduced, she thought it was hardly possible that he would 
render assistance in such a manner. In fact, from time to 

[59] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


time, both she and Alice in response to kindly questioning 
and delicate hints had assured him that all their needs were 
supplied. But Dr. Drake was not deceived. Being well aware 
of the fact that it would hurt the sensitive pride and add to 
the distress of Mrs. Randolph and Alice if they knew that he 
and his wife divined their great need of occasional help, they 
made no offer of Christmas gifts to the unfortunate family 
that would remind them in any way of their deplorable condi¬ 
tion; nevertheless, the two good people worked hard for a 
whole week to make the Christmas celebration a joyous one 
for them. 

In the afternoon Dr. Drake came over to the cottage with 
an invitation to them. ‘ ‘ My wife has made a new style of plum 
pudding with all kinds of ices on top of it,” he said, “but 
she wouldn’t give me a taste of it until all of you came over to 
partake of the feast.” 

When they reached the Doctor’s home, everything there 
was bright and cheerful. The Christmas tree was trimmed 
with all kinds of decorations and loaded with packages of all 
sizes and shapes. 

The offering of the gifts was so tactful and considerate 
that neither Mrs. Randolph nor Alice surmised that it was 
planned to be a help for their immediate needs. 

On the morning after the holidays, much commotion and 
excitement prevailed among the children who stood about in 
groups in the school yard. 

“We had a lovely Christmas,” cried one, “mamma made 
such a lovely angel cake! And she smacked her lips as if still 
enjoying the taste of it. 

“Santa Claus brought me a new doll and doll carriage,” 
said another. 

“Our Christmas tree was so heavy with presents it fell 
down and almost set the house on fire, ’ ’ another voice chimed 
in. 


[6°] 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


“Say, Jack, wliat’s the matter with your hand?” asked 
one mischievous boy of another. 

“I burned it.” 

“How?” 

“Oh, I knew there was some white meat of the turkey 
left in the pantry and I just went in to help myself and I 
spilt a cup of hot grease on my hand. ’ ’ 

‘‘ Hully gee! served you right! ’ ’ 

“Ma said that, too, and the old man gave me a caning 
because I spoiled my new suit.” 

Ellen listened but took no part in the conversation. 

“Say, Ellen, why didn’t you speak to me the other night 
when you was dragging home your turkey on your sled?” 
demanded a little girl. 

Ellen flushed painfully. She was sorry that Edgar had 
discovered her secret. “How did you know it was a turkey?” 
she asked. 

“It was too big to be only a chicken and you ran so fast 
I was afraid you would lose it off the sled. I wanted to tell 
you, but you would not stop to listen.” 

“I didn’t see nor hear you,” said Ellen, earnestly. 

On their way home, Ellen made a full Confession to Edgar 
and begged him not to betray her and Edgar promised, but 
that moment was the beginning of awakening ambition in his 
soul — that Ellen, who was two years his junior had done so 
much for the family while he had been idle and thoughtless, 
was terrible and disgraceful. Why hadn’t he thought of it 
before ? That night he slept but little and awoke in the morn¬ 
ing with a strong resolution to do something. “Mother,” he 
said when they were all seated at the breakfast table, ‘ ‘ I want 
to see Dr. Drake about work. It’s a shame for me to be idle 
while Alice and—” 

He was about to say “Ellen” when he recalled his promise 

[61] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


and continued, “while Alice is working for us. I’m sure it’s 
my duty to help her. ’’ 

“You!” exclaimed his mother in astonishment, “what 
could you do, my boy ? There is not a department store in this 
neighborhood — besides you must not leave school now. In 
only six months more you will graduate . 9 9 

‘ ‘ Of course I know that I will have to go to a larger city 
where there are more chances for work, but as for leaving 
school I will not lose much. The system here is inferior to 
that of the schools I attended before and I am sure Richard 
or Alice can prepare me for college after a while.” 

Mrs. Randolph sighed. She saw the prudence of his sug¬ 
gestion but her heart sank at the thought of parting with 
him while he was so young and boyish and yet it would be 
such a relief if he could help Alice to bear the heavy burden. 

After some reflection she said, ‘ 4 1 have no doubt that your 
plan, if successful, would be of sound help to us, and still I 
fear the salary you would get would be so trifling—” 

“Well, mother, if I can’t do anything towards the sup¬ 
port of all of us, I can at least provide for myself,” he added 
with his spirits rising. “If I can’t go to work, I’ll starve 
rather than let Alice work for me any longer. Oh, I’m so 
ashamed! ’ ’ 

Tears gushed to Mrs. Randolph’s eyes at this exhibition 
of manliness in her boy; but Edgar, mistaking the cause went 
up to her and kissing her pale cheek said, ‘‘Forgive me, 
mother, I spoke too harshly to you.” 

The next morning Edgar went to ask Dr. Drake’s advice 
and found him just on the point of leaving the house. 

“Hello, Eddy, what good angel brought you here so 
early in the morning? Everybody well at home?” 

“Yes, thank you, doctor,” said Edgar looking important, 
but he stammered as he spoke. “I’d like to speak to you a 
few minutes if you are not too busy.” 

[62] 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


“Go ahead. Never mind my being busy.” 

Edgar told him of his intentions and added, “I know 
you have a great many friends and I thought perhaps, if it 
were not too much trouble, you might find me a situation some¬ 
where. ’ ’ 

“You need not mind about the ‘trouble’ either, young 
man,” said the good doctor. “What are you fit for anyway, 
you mischief? You are too young to do any work that will 
pay decently.” 

“I am willing to do anything at all if I can only make 
a living and help Alice.” 

“Well, well, I suppose there is a way you can help. Work 
is never a disgrace,” and so saying the doctor turned to his 
desk. 

Silence reigned for a few minutes while the doctor con¬ 
tinued to write. Then he turned to the boy, “This is a letter 
to a friend of mine who manages a large department store in 
Philadelphia. If your mother will consent to your going there, 
I think it will be the best place for you.” 

The boy thanked the doctor heartily and carefully deposit¬ 
ing the precious document in his pocket, he started for home 
with bright hopes surging in his breast. 

“Edgar, my child, I can not let you go to that city,” 
exclaimed his mother in distress when he told her of the plan. 
‘ ‘ I am willing to let you work but not so far from home. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Mother, the distance is nothing; why nowadays one can 
travel miles and miles in almost no time.” 

“Why don’t you try to find a position in Kingston? 
There are several stores in which you could surely find work 
and vou can still live at home. ’ ’ 

t/ 

“Mother, I want to begin as other boys of my age have 
begun and who became great men when they grew up. I 
want to be great, too, some day, but if I stay home, even while 
I go to work and remain under your loving care I would not 

[ 63 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


learn to be independent and it is not good for a boy to always 
depend on his mother and sisters, if he wants to begin life in 
the right way.” 

‘‘You know nothing of the struggles and temptations of 
a city life, my son.” 

‘ ‘ Do not fear, mother,— I shall always try not to do any¬ 
thing that would make you ashamed of me.” 

It took much persuasion on the boy’s part before Mrs. 
Randolph gave her consent, and when at last she yielded, 
Edgar was overjoyed. Despite the sorrow that filled his heart 
at the thought of parting from his mother and sisters, the boy 
looked forward with eager anticipation to the new life. He 
was anxious to begin his fight on the world’s battlefield, so 
certain was he of success. 

The day of parting came at last. Edgar wandered rest¬ 
lessly about the house but most of the time he was advising 
and assisting his mother in the packing of his trunk. When 
the Doctor arrived with his car to take Edgar to the station, 
he put a paper in the boy’s hand and turned to Mrs. Randolph. 

“That is the address of a hotel whose proprietor I know 
and where he can stay until he gets work. I am sure that 
when my friend the manager of the store reads my letter and 
sees Edgar, he will find a post for him and see about a suitable 
stopping place as well. Eddy will be taken care of, never 
fear. ’ ’ 

With tearful eyes and trembling lips the mother pressed 
her son to her heart and said solemnly, “May the God of the 
fatherless, guide and protect you, my dear child.” Then she 
turned to hide her emotion, while Alice and Ellen waved in 
farewell as the car drove off. 


[ 64 ] 


CHAPTER X 


Uncle and Nephew 

D URING all these years Charles Randolph had lived in the 
great metropolis where his interests centered and had 
grown almost wholly out of touch with his brother and 
his family. He and his wife lived in a beautiful home — wealth 
enabled them to gratify their luxurious tastes but of real hap¬ 
piness they tasted little — there being no sympathy nor con¬ 
geniality between them. His wife had recently died and it is 
therefore not to be wondered at that he did not grieve hope¬ 
lessly in his bereavement. 

Nevertheless, at times a feeling of loneliness would creep 
over him. At the time he received Avord of his brother John’s 
sudden and untimely end, he had sent a perfunctory letter of 
sympathy to the afflicted family. That being done, he had felt 
that he had discharged his duty. But lately, for some reason 
which he could not understand, he thought of them repeatedly. 
He knew that his brother had left children and he felt some 
interest as to what they were doing since they had lost their 
father and their property also. The longing to see them in¬ 
creased within him — or perhaps it was because he was grow¬ 
ing older and was becoming frail in health — perhaps he 
wished for some one to love him in his old age. 

A chance meeting one day with an old friend, Professor 
Hart of the law school Richard attended, sufficed to change 
the whole course of his life. After exchanging the customary 
friendly greetings, Charles Randolph mentioned to the profes¬ 
sor that he meant to spend some time in travel. 

[ 65 ] 




THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“I have decided to go abroad for I am in need of a 
change,” he said. “I don’t care to go alone, and I want a 
youthful companion. I presume you have heard of my loss ? ’ ’ 

The professor replied in a few words of sympathy, and 
then said, ‘ 1 If you are in earnest about wanting a young trav¬ 
elling companion, I think I can help you. There is a most 
worthy young man in one of my classes who has a great desire 
to travel, but can not do so on account of a great monetary 
loss recently suffered by his family.” 

“I have no doubt that he is just such a one as I would 
like to have with me. He will doubtless appreciate the chance 
to travel at another’s expense.” 

“I do not know about that,” said the professor thought¬ 
fully, “he is very independent and perhaps would not accept 
such an offer, but I will speak to him about it, if you so 
desire.” 

“Pray do so.” 

Two or three days later, Richard was interrupted in his 
usual work by the entrance of the professor. 

“What! at desk and books again?” he said. “You look 
weary, Randolph,” he added as he noticed the worn and 
anxious expression on the young man’s face. 

Richard looked up in surprise for it was unusual for the 
professor to pay him a visit. 

“This will not do, my boy,— you must take a vacation. 
Undoubtedly you need a rest. What do you think of taking a 
trip to England?” 

Richard’s face clouded at the thought of the impossibility 
of such a trip — and his heart was already there for he 
thought of Florence continually and how the broad ocean 
rolled between them — but how could he think of using money 
for pleasure when his dear ones were probably denied a great 
many comforts? 

‘ 1 To travel was once my greatest desire, ’ ’ he said, with a 

[ 66 ] 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW 


half-smile, ‘ 1 but I must not think of it now, for the welfare of 
my family depends upon me to a very great measure.” 

Not even if there was somebody who would offer you the 
chance to travel without expense to yourself?” 

“I can not at this time accept an offer that will benefit 
myself alone,” replied Richard. 

“You must think of yourself as you do of others-—al¬ 
though I can not but admire your unselfishness. I shall insist, 
however, that you take a short rest-—you need it. Be¬ 
sides you will be much benefited by a broader knowledge of 
the world, that travel intelligently taken, alone can give.” 

Professor Hart then told Richard of the gentleman who 
wished to engage a young man as travelling companion. “By 
a singular coincidence, his name, also, is Randolph. I had not 
thought of it before — perhaps he is a relative. ’’ 

Richard listened to the professor’s announcement, but 
started at the last remark. Could it be possible that this man 
was his uncle? He asked the professor the full name of the 
man. 

‘ ‘ Charles Randolph, ’ ’ was the reply. 

It was his uncle— of that he felt assured— and a 
strong desire to meet the unknown relative took possession of 
him. After a moment’s reflection, he said, “It is very likely 
that Mr. Randolph is related to me and I should very much 
like to see him. As for travelling — I can not decide that yet. 
I am very grateful to you for suggesting the plan to me. ’ ’ 

“Consider it at any rate — it would be of great ad¬ 
vantage to you.” 

The next day Richard received a note from Professor Hart 
asking him to come to his office. When he entered the room 
he found with the professor a stranger who quickly turned as 
he heard a footstep and came towards him. The gentleman 
was tall and of dignified appearance. His moustache was iron- 
gray and his hair was nearly white — but the bushy eyebrows 

[ 67 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


overhung a pair of keen jet-black eyes that were unusually 
grave in expression, though a humorous twinkle now and then 
contradicted their normal seriousness. 

After the first step he paused, with a half-puzzled expres¬ 
sion. It seemed to him for an instant that he beheld his dead 
brother as he had last seen him, so many years ago. 

“I need not introduce mself,” he said, “you know my 
name, and Professor Hart has told me yours. Your remark¬ 
able likeness to your father is sufficient proof that you are my 
nephew,” and so saying, he extended his hand which Richard 
took in a warm clasp. The handsome, stern face of the elder 
man relaxed under the influence of Richard’s bright smile, 
and yet he spoke with a natural coldness that chilled every 
tender feeling in the young man’s heart. 

“You know, I presume, why I have come here. I would 
like a decisive answer tomorrow. ’ ’ 

There was silence for a moment and then Richard spoke. 

“I fear I can not accept your offer, uncle. I suppose you 
know of our double misfortune and I consider it my duty to 
continue my professional studies so that I may provide for 
my family.” 

“Your family!” exclaimed the uncle. “You don’t mean 
to say that you are married already, are you?” 

Richard smiled and the professor laughed outright. 

“No, Mr. Randolph,” exclaimed the professor, “we can 
not accuse Richard of such folly, but of late he has fallen into 
the habit of speaking of his mother and his younger sisters 
and brother as his ‘family’.” 

Turning to Richard, he continued jestingly, “Young man, 
I shall refuse to instruct you further, unless you consent to 
take a rest — you have worked altogether too hard of late. ’ ’ 

He waved his hand as usual as if in the act of dismissing 
his class, and the young man nodded to his uncle and turned 
to leave the room hut his uncle called him back. He gave 

[68] 



After the first step he paused, with a half-puzzled expression. It seemed to 
him for an instant that he beheld his dead brother as he 
had last seen him, so many years ago. 







UNCLE AND NEPHEW 


him his card and said in rather softer tones than he had used 
before, “I wish you to call on me this evening and we will 
talk the matter over.” 

Kichard thanked him and left the room. His uncle looked 
after him and murmured, ‘ ‘ A proud boy — and very like his 
father. ’ ’ 

“It would be the best thing possible for the young man 
and his uncle has money enough,” was the thought in the 
professor’s mind. 


y 


to] 


CHAPTER XI 


The Letter 

D AY AFTER day Alice wended her way to the school- 
house — often with lagging step and sinking heart — 
and yet the energy of youth and renewed hope would 
invariably assert themselves for she really took great inter¬ 
est in the progress of her wild pupils, but the heavy responsi¬ 
bilities and the anxiety of the mind — the unwonted bodily 
exertion and the long walks over the fields of snow that so 
cruelly chilled her, soon registered upon her naturally fine 
constitution. Mrs. Randolph noted this and redoubled her 
motherly attentions. 

“You will have to give up teaching, Alice,” she said, 
“it is killing you.” 

“I am very much in fear that we can not get along 
without it,” replied the girl cheerfully, “Besides, I am 
growing to love my work. It is every interesting to watch 
the development of these children and many of them really 
love me.” 

The young girl’s pleasures were few indeed and she had 
made this duty one of them. At times the rudeness and 
stupidity or carelessness of some of the pupils made her heart 
faint with despair, but hope speedily revived again by a 
well-said lesson — an intelligent answer or a shy pressure 
of the hand. 

One morning she was looking paler and more worn than 
usual and refused the breakfast her mother had put before 
her. 


[70] 


THE LETTER 


The mother sighed. “It is of no use, Alice, you must 
give up school. You shall take a rest and I will dispose of 
my diamonds rather than see you sacrifice yourself. I will 
do it gladly.” 

“Do not part with them, Mother,” said Alice in a tearful 
voice “for the dear sake of him who gave them to you. 
Besides they would go hut a little way towards maintaining 
a family for any length of time.” 

It was with an aching head and weary heart that Alice 
proceeded to her school duties that morning — the pain in 
her head was almost unbearable. The snow-fields appeared 
to sway about her and the distance before her seemed im¬ 
measurable. When at last she reached the schoolhouse, she 
was shivering from the cold, damp air. 

The tasks of the day were soon commenced. One of the 
older girls of marked intelligence was selected by the sick 
teacher to assist her. As soon as the responsibility was 
taken from her, Alice bowed her aching head on the desk 
with a sigh of relief. 

The noice of the children, however, who totally defied 
the authority of the young girl, pierced her brain like points 
of arrows. She tried to raise her head to give attention to 
her duties, but found it impossible to do so. Scarcely could 
she comprehend a word that was uttered by the pupils. 
Arithmetic, geography and history, were strangely inter¬ 
mingled in her mind. 

When her head sank for the second time on her desk, 
the confusion re-doubled — showers of paper balls flew 
across the room like hailstones. One mischievous boy 
trotted around the room on tip-toe, stooping now and then 
to pinch someone or push them, while another tickled the 
necks of the more studious girls with the point of his pencil. 

At last their screams aroused Alice from the death-like 
stupor into which she had fallen. She a message to the 

[7i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


principal that she was too ill to remain for the afternoon 
session and then arose languidly, scarcely able to cross the 
room. It would have been a relief to remain there but she 
thought of her mother’s anxiety and presently gathered 
courage to begin the walk home. How she reached the cot¬ 
tage she did not know but it was only after blind staggering 
and many a pause. 

Mrs. Randolph was filled with alarm when she saw 
Alice’s haggard face at that unusual hour. ‘ 1 Child, what is 
the matter? what has happened?” 

“Nothing, mother, except that I have a nervous head' 
ache.” 

“My dear, what shall I do for you? Had I not better 
send for Dr. Drake?” 

“Oh no, rest will be more benefit than anything else,” 
she replied. I shall feel perfectly well after a few hours’ 
sleep.” 

The mother was not satisfied with this assurance but 
busied herself in making Alice comfortable. No sooner had 
she fallen into a gentle slumber than she stole quickly from 
the room and went in search of someone to send for the 
doctor. A lad who was especially fond of Alice volunteered 
to go only to return with the message that the physician was 
away for several days. 

When Alice awoke she was much refreshed. She found 
her mother absorbed in reading a letter from Richard. There 
could not have been found a better medicine than this for 
the sick girl and she eagerly stretched out her hand to take 
it as her mother finished reading. Exclamations of delight 
escaped from her every now and then. 

“To think,” she said, as she folded the letter in the 
original creases, “that Richard should have the chance to 
travel, and with Uncle Charles, too. His greatest dream is 
at last realized!” 


[ 72 ] 


THE LETTER 


“I certainly rejoice with you that he should have such 
an opportunity, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Randolph, “that 
Richard will be much benefited as he needs the change; but 
it grieves me much that while he leads a life of luxurv, 
which he undoubtedly will in the company of his uncle, you 
are doomed to slave your very life away in supporting the 
rest of us.” 

“I assure you it isn’t such a dreadful fate after all,” 
said Alice. “Besides it would hardly make any difference 
to us whether he is to ravel or sit by his desk, since he is 
sure of passing his examinations now. But mother,” as a 
new thought came to her, “Richard is not traveling yet, he 
is asking first for your approval. I hope you will give it,” 
she added pleadingly. 

A sad smile stole over the mother’s face as she replied, 
“I will give my consent, providing you give up your school 
and try something else less wearing. I am certain there is 
something you can do that will not tire you so much.” 

“I fear there is nothing else available here that I am 
fitted for but teaching.” 

“I suppose, Alice, there is no use in going over the 
matter again, but I feel we have made a grave mistake in 
keeping the truth from Richard.” 

“Now mother dear, everything will turn out for the 
best, so please don’t worry your life away on that account. 
Write at once and wish him a happy journey,” and she laid 
her still aching head on the pillow, while her mother, not 
wholly convinced of the wisdom of her course, sat down to 
write to her son. 

When Mrs. Randolph finished writing Alice said 
“Mother, I always wondered why Uncle Charles and father 
never spoke to each other or why Uncle Charles never came 
to see us.” 

“Your father never cared to speak on the subject and I 

[73] 


/ 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 



never asked him although I wondered myself many times 
what the trouble was between them. Only once, your father 
mentioned the fact that they had a quarrel while they were 
at college and both went their separate ways from then on.” 


[74] 



CHAPTER XII 


London Experiences 

R ICHARD and his uncle were pleasantly situated in one 
of the fashionable hotels of the city whither they had 
repaired immediately on their arrival in London. Mr. 
Randolph soon made it his business to seek out old acquaint¬ 
ances, and it was not long before invitations were showered 
upon them. Mothers of marriageable daughters were espe¬ 
cially eager to entertain the American millionaire and his 
nephew; but the opinion soon became current that the young 
man was a woman-hater. But this did not in the least deter 
manjr from seeking his society, despite his indifference to 
their beauty or rank. 

“He is so interesting and so manly in his bearing/’ and at 
times some impressionable fair one was tempted to forget her 
womanly dignity and delicacy and actually make love to him. 
At first Richard was rather flattered by the attention he re¬ 
ceived, but he soon grew nauseated and disgusted at his 
surroundings and began to feel very uncomfortable under the 
yoke of fashionable life. He was particularly bored by those 
society women whose manners were as artificial as their com¬ 
plexions. Everything about them was of the latest mode. 
Their dresses followed the latest model, so did their hand¬ 
shaking, and their songs and conversation. He was thankful 
that his uncle soon expressed himself as also growing tired of 
this sort of life. 

The elder man’s health was failing rapidly. Some inward 
malady was preying on his once active frame, working slowly 

[75] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


but surely, and he knew that the disease from which he suf¬ 
fered would soon prove fatal. The hand of affliction weighed 
heavily upon his spirit and he was growing old and feeble 
and his hair was perceptibly whitening with each day. The 
severe lines of his face softened slightly but at heart he was 
the same proud man. Day by day his love for Richard grew 
stronger but he was always careful not to betray his tender 
feelings to his nephew. Frequently he was capricious and 
almost unbearable and then Richard would suffer much but 
he was patient and controlled all signs of anger with wonder¬ 
ful self-command, always showing delicate consideration for 
the welfare of his uncle. Often would he sit and read to him 
without showing any sign of fatigue — intent on making the 
old man forget his sufferings and striving in all ways to make 
his life happier by surrounding him with an atmosphere of 
sympathy, love and watchfulness. 

An ever present cause of sincere grief to Richard was the 
petty selfishness that was an integral part of his uncle’s 
nature. While not a bad man at heart, the surroundings and 
influence of a long life of idle luxury was the cause of his utter 
indifference to the suffering of his fellow creatures. Some¬ 
times when the old man was in good humor — which was 
quite infrequently, Richard would sieze the opportunity to 
try to awaken in him some interest in the destitute condition 
of the poor and the laboring class but his attempts seemed 
utterly in vain. No sooner did he allude to the subject than the 
old man would lose patience. 

“You’re just like your father, Richard,” he would say, 
impatiently, “he was a good man, but he did annoy me with 
his sermons.” 

“I intend to continue my father’s work in your behalf,” 
replied the young man smilingly. 

“It is useless for you to do so — you can not bend an old 
tree. ’ ’ 


[7 b] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 

One afternoon, while out driving, Mr. Randolph gave his 
nephew cause for much wonder. They were waiting near a 
corner for a funeral to pass. A small newsboy stood near with 
a bundle of papers under his arm — his delicate body scantily 
clad. Business did not seem to be very brisk with him as he 
sent up his plaintive cry, “Pa-pers, p-a-p-e-r-s, ” with chatter¬ 
ing teeth, now and then gazing with appealing eyes at the 
occupants of the automobile. 

The pale, thoughtful face of the boy with its sad uncom¬ 
plaining expression of suffering in the eyes, cut Richard to the 
heart. He was about to put his hand in his pocket, when his 
uncle at the same moment, summoned the boy to him and 
asked him how many papers he had to sell. 

The boy counted them—“Sixteen, sir/’ he replied, his 
eager eyes fixed on the questioner. 

“Here, take that,” he said brusquely, as he handed the 
boy a dollar bill, “and give me the papers.” 

The child’s face brightened wonderfully and with a sigh 
of relief, he delivered the papers, uttering at the same time 
a few dazed words of thanks. He was about to run off when 
Mr. Randolph stopped him. 

‘ ‘ What are you going to do with the money ? ’ ’ 

“I’m going to give it to my ma, to get some food for the 
kids.” 

‘ ‘ How many are there of you ? ’ ’ 

“Two brothers, one six and the other four and a baby 
sister three months old.” 

‘ ‘ Why do you not attend school ? ’ ’ 

“ ’Cause ma don’t make enough with the washing and 
I got to help her.” 

“Have jmu no father?” 

“Nope. He died five months ago.” 

“You may go.” 

Richard’s heart was rejoiced when he saw the distressed 

[77] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


cry of suffering humanity had begun to sound in his uncle’s 
ears and he felt that at last success might attend his faithful 
persistence in the endeavor to sow the seed of human fellow¬ 
ship in his heart. Even though it should grow slowly, Richard 
would be satisfied. 

Leaning lazily back in his seat, Mr. Randolph took out 
his cigar case and was soon smoking — absorbed in thought. 
Richard carelessly took up a paper but his attention was 
speedily attracted by the following headlines: 

“Lord Chandler at Last Decides to Marry” 

“Society has long wondered gagement of Lord Chandler and 
when and whom Lord Chandler Miss Florence Ellsmere, the 
— a member of one of the oldest daughter of Mr. Ralph Ellsmere, 


the American philanthropist who 
is now visiting England with his 
daughter. Since Miss Ellsmere is 
the possessor of both beauty and 
wealth, Lord Chandler is to be 


and most-distinguished families, 
— would marry. Which one of 
the well-known heiresses would 
he choose? 


“The question is now answered congratualted on his excellent 
by the announcement of the en- taste.” 

There followed a paragraph relative to Miss Ellsmere’s 
charms of mind and person and her father was described as a 
man distinguished for many noted charities, having dispensed 
large sums in support of churches, libraries and other public 
institutions. 

Richard did not care to read more — it was enough for 
him to know that Mr. Ellsmere had succeeded in carrying out 
his plans for securing a titled husband for Florence. His face 
colorless and convulsed with grief and he knew not how 
or when they reached the hotel but was glad to find himself 
alone. The paper that bore the startling news was still tightly 
clasped in his hand — he glanced at it once more — then he 
pushed it aside with a gesture of impatience. 

“Why am I so distressed? Did I not expect it?” and yet 
his lips quivered and his breast heaved with anguish. At that 


[78] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 


moment he felt crushed — love and hope seemed dead and, 
for the time, he was shorn of all ambition to continue his 
struggle for place and prominence in the profession he loved. 
He leaned his head upon his hand and a groan burst from his 
lips. “Oh, God,” he mused miserably, “if I was sure she 
loved the man who is to be her life-long companion, I could 
more easily bear the pain of separation but I can not picture 
Florence — that noble girl with her restless, ambitious spirit 
and love for an active useful life — blinded by the splendor 
that awaits the wife of such a man as Lord Chandler.” He 
felt that in spite of her loyalty to himself, she was being 
forced into this marriage by her father. 

Aroused by the entrance of his uncle, he sprang to his 
feet, the darkness serving to hide his haggard looks from those 
searching eyes. 

“Here is an invitation from Lady Palmer,” said the 
elder man placing an opened envelope on the table. “She an¬ 
nounces her daughter’s debut and I suppose she wants you 
to fall in love with the young lady. ’ ’ 

Richard smiled faintly. ‘ ‘ If you wish to go, I shall he glad 
to accompany you.” 

“ I do, ” said his uncle , 11 she has two more daughters with 
whom I wish you to become acquainted,” and he gave him a 
significant look. 

Richard and his uncle attended the coming-out party of 
Lady Palmer’s daughter where they received a cordial wel¬ 
come from the hostess, for Lady Palmer did cherish a wish 
that her eldest daughter might attract the young American 
and cause him to fall in love with her —she spared neither 
labor nor money in striving to make the affair a success. She 
also cleverly managed to keep her other two daughters out of 
Richard’s way — for they were very charming young ladies 
and it was not in accordance with her plans to have him prefer 
one of them to their older sister. 

[79] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


The elder Miss Palmer made a very lovely picture in her 
gown of white satin shrouded in rare lace with here and there 
a few costly jewels. Richard was frank in his admiration of 
her dazzling beauty but his thoughts were loyal to another — 
whose face to him was far lovelier because of the beautiful 
soul that illumined it. But his heart ached as he pursued the 
thought further. 

Later in the evening, he was standing near an alcove 
where two young ladies were quietly voicing the latest social 
gossip. Suddenly one of them laughed lightly. 

“By the way,” she said abruptly, “Miss Palmer does not 
seem to be grieving very seriously.” 

“I am sure she does, nevertheless,” replied her com¬ 
panion. “She will scarcely wear her heart on her sleeve.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. Lord Chandler behaved shame¬ 
fully, however, to my way of thinking. Miss Palmer is quite 
as lovely as this American beauty, but of course she is not so 
wealthy. ’’ 

Richard caught his breath at the last remark and, quietly 
moving away, soon left the drawing-room to conceal his 
agitation. 

By reason of her father’s great wealth and her own 
beauty and charm, Florence Ellsmere had become a decided 
social success, and was a welcome guest at many of the most 
exclusive London houses. And yet, had her wishes been con¬ 
sulted, she would have remained in quiet seclusion. Her 
father, however, never lost sight of his object in coming to 
London and it was in compliance with his demands that she 
entered upon this gay life. 

On this evening Florence had come with her father to the 
residence of Lady Palmer and as Richard reached the door 
of the music room after having left the drawing room he found 
there but few occupants and his eyes readily fell upon the face 
of the woman he loved. She was seated quite at the farther 

[8°] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 


end of the apartment. He stopped abruptly at the door and his 
heart almost leaped from his breast; his eyes devoured her 
face and then fixed themselves keenly on that of her com¬ 
panion a tall man of distinguished appearance with a dark, 
handsome face. He was bending over Florence, his hand 
resting on the arm of her chair — so low did he stoop as he 
spoke to her that it seemed to Richard his lips must have 
touched her hair. 

“A handsome face but far from pleasing,” was the 
comment that flashed almost unconsciously through Richard’s 
mind. 

Florence toyed with her fan while she apparently listened 
to her companion. She was, if possible, more beautiful and 
more charming than ever before but there was the same sad 
expression on her lovely face as when Richard had last seen 
her. It appeared to him also that there were signs of anger 
and scorn in the eyes which she turned on the speaker. 

Richard had never known the agony of such sensations 
as those to which he was now a prey. The blood flowed hot and 
tumultuously through his veins as he gazed upon her. Finally 
he perceived that she was becoming restless and that her eyes 
wandered in his direction. She started suddenly, lifting her¬ 
self erect in her chair — her face changed color — and a 
wondering look leaped into her eyes. She gazed at him with a 
passionate yearning which betrayed her soul. His steady gaze 
gave back the answer and she could hardly resist the tempta¬ 
tion to fly into his arms. She rose and murmured a few words 
of excuse to Lord Chandler who noticed her confusion and 
was puzzled to account for it. Just as she was about to turn 
towards Richard, the sound of music came to their ears and 
the nobleman abruptly stepped forward to claim his partner. 
She hesitated an instant, her lips curling with contempt — 
then took his arm and they slowly passed through another door 
into the ballroom. 


[ 81 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


‘ ‘ My God! ’ ’ groaned Richard, ‘ 1 1 can not let her go with¬ 
out speaking to her.” Presently he passed out into the 
grounds for the heat inside seemed to stifle him. 

He did not know how long he remained there but he 
suddenly became conscious that the music within had ceased 
and that he was shivering with the cold. As he turned to re¬ 
enter, he heard light footsteps and Florence came swiftly 
toward him with both hands outstretched as if in earnest 
appeal. 

“Richard!” she cried, her voice thrilling with tender¬ 
ness. She uttered but the one word yet the cadence of it spoke 
volumes. It told him all he wished to know and he grasped 
her extended hands, which, though they trembled in his clasp, 
lay there passive, content to be thus imprisoned. For some 
time neither spoke — there was scarcely need of words. Fi¬ 
nally Richard broke the silence. “Florence, my—” and then 
he stopped — he would not speak the work “love” that 
trembled on his lips. That she could not be — for she was to 
be another’s wife and a gulf lay between them. 

His sense of honor was even stronger than the maddening 
desire to clasp her in his arms for the first and perhaps, for 
the last time. “Tell me,” he demanded brokenly, “are you 
happy?” 

“No, Richard,” she replied, with a deep sigh, “I have not 
known a happy day since — since—” but she stopped short 
as she heard her father’s voice. Gently withdrawing her hands, 
she started towards the house, turning to wave her hand before 
entering and in a moment was gone. Richard remained where 
she had left him almost dazed at what had occurred. His hands 
still burning from the pressure of her warm touch — he held 
against his wildly throbbing heart, and it was thus his uncle 
found him. 

“Richard,” he asked, “where on earth have you been 
keeping yourself? I wish to go home. I feel rather tired.” 

[82] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 


“Very well,” Richard replied, carefully concealing all 
traces of emotion. 

“Our eminent philanthropist, Mr. Ellsmere,” said Mr. 
Randolph on their way home, “does not practice what he 
preaches. I saw him drink heavily tonight and am almost 
positive that he cheated at cards. It seems that Lord Chandler 
has a strong influence over him. He carries out his lordship ’s 
will rather than his own.” 

“It’s a pity,” said Richard with an effort, “that Mr. 
Ellsmere should fall a willing captive in the net that Lord 
Chandler has woven to capture his millions.” 

“Well I certainly pity the young lady who is to be cap¬ 
tured with the millions,” replied his uncle. “Lord Chandler 
has a very bad reputation. There is a whisper here and there 
that he is married and has deserted his wife.” 

Richard started at his uncle’s last remark. 11 Great 
heavens! if there is any foundation to this story what shame 
overshadows the future of Florence Ellsmere,” he thought; 
“I can not let the matter rest here. I must know the truth 
and yet — how ? ’ ’ 

With a sinking heart he recalled his uncle’s resolution to 
remain in London but one more week, for it was his intention 
to visit all the capitals of Europe. The thought of leaving 
London was agonizing — traveling had lost its charm and yet, 
if he remained — what could he do without influence or 
money, and indeed, without reliable facts upon which to start ? 

Richard saw Florence several times during his visit in 
London but they were never alone together. Either Lord 
Chandler or her father accompanied her each time he saw her 
and it seemed to him that she was a prisoner with these two 
men as alternate keepers. 

He thought of writing her, but felt sure the missive would 
not reach her for he suspected her father would hesitate at 
nothing in carrying out his plans. 

[83] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Finally, seized witli an uncontrollable longing to see her 
alone before he left London, Richard decided to defy any 
obstacle in his way and fortune favored him. She was alone. 
Her father had joined a hunting party and was to be absent 
several days. 

Florence was sitting in one of the prettiest rooms in their 
suite in the hotel at which she and her father were stopping. 
When Richard’s card was brought in, she hastened to meet 
him with her hands outstretched. It was her usual way of 
greeting — showing her deep affection for him. She was 
dressed in a simple gown of cream color which clung in soft 
folds against her slim, graceful figure, displaying the charms 
of a perfectly moulded form. 

Her wonderful dark hair was piled high on her shapely 
head. Her sweet face flushed at the excitement of seeing him 
and the lovelight shining in her glorious eyes, made her so ex¬ 
quisitely beautiful that he could not resist the temptation any 
longer to clasp her in his arms and for the first time since they 
were lovers. Florence lingered unresistingly in his warm em¬ 
brace—with her lovely white arms around his neck, she clung 
to him as though she was afraid of losing him again. When he 
began kissing her perfumed hair, closed eyes and soft throat, 
his demonstration of love awoke in her the answering rapture 
that follows long denial. 

But it was also the first time since Richard had grown to 
manhood that he lost control of himself and as the thought 
of her engagement to another man surged through his con¬ 
fused brain, a cold chill ran through him and set his every 
nerve throbbing in torture. The realization that he had no 
right to accept more than a sincere friendship from the woman 
he loved — as no man ever had loved, unmanned him. 

Almost roughly, he released her and hiding his face in 
his hands, he cried, ‘ 1 My God, what have I done! ’ 9 

“What did you do?” asked Florence in surprise. 

[84] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 


He took the newspaper clipping of her engagement from 
his pocket and gave it to her to read. After reading it, she 
laughed. 

“Suppose,” she said, “this was true — am I not just as 
guilty of treason as you? My giving myself up to you so 
freely should convince you that there is no truth in this news¬ 
paper guess. Richard—” she added in a voice tense with 
emotion, ‘ ‘ I thought that you had more faith in me — could 
you for a moment think that I would willingly consent to 
marry a man like Lord Chandler? The announcement of my 
engagement to him was false. I had no knowledge of it until 
I read it in the London papers. It was a conspiracy between 
my father and Lord Chandler — they thought that after such 
publicity, I would not be courageous enough to deny it. But 
have no fear,” she continued happily, “nothing on earth would 
force me into a marriage where love and respect would have no 
part. ’ ’ 

“I did not believe, Florence, that you would willingly 
consent to such a union, yet knowing your father’s ambition 
for you, I did believe that you were forced against your will 
to accept a man of his choice rather than your own. That is 
the reason of my coming to see you today. ’ ’ 

Then he told her of the rumors he had heard of Lord 
Chandler and how helpless he was in exposing his true char¬ 
acter. 

“Now that you know I am not in danger,” she said 
gently you need not trouble yourself about it. ’ ’ 

For the first time since the Ellsmere ball, they now had 
an opportunity to be together and to talk freely of their love 
and future plans. 

“After the death of my father,” said Richard, “and the 
change in our financial condition, I thought that I would have 
to sacrifice love for duty but the suffering I endured through 

[85] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


those long months of separation from you made me realize that 
I must have love in order to resume my duties. ’ ’ 

“I wanted to make a name for myself,” he continued, 
“before I asked you to marry me. Knowing that it would take 
years before this could be accomplished, I had no courage to 
ask you to wait. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Florence put her little hands in his while she said, in her 
sweet, low voice which thrilled him to the depths of his soul, 
“Richard, true love has no fear nor doubt. Ever since I was 
a little girl I have loved you; do you think for a moment that 
it is possible that I should change no matter what difficulties 
might have come in our way ? Do you think anyone could take 
your place in my affection and the respect and admiration I 
have for you? Since I arrived in England I have been bored 
to death by the attentions I have received from the English 
nobility. To some girls who did not know the sincerity of such 
a love as yours, it would seem a great favor to have so many 
distinguished men at their feet — to me it was a daily burden 
which I tried to bear patiently for my father’s sake. Isn’t 
this a sufficient proof that I would willingly wait all my life 
for you rather than be bound in a loveless marriage ? ’ ’ 

He lingered and they talked until the evening shadows 
darkened the room. The hall clock striking seven reminded 
Richard that his uncle would be much peeved if dinner was 
delayed on his account. He quickly stood up to take leave — 
Florence rose at the same time. They both felt that in the 
midst of their joy there must come the pain of self-sacrifice. 
Her lovely eyes seeking his were misty, and holding out her 
hand she said in her low, sweet voice, “Goodnight and good¬ 
bye.” Shaken by a whirlwind of emotions, Richard took her 
close in his arms again and for one more delicious moment 
pressed his lips to hers. 

“Florence, my darling,” he cried, “goodnight — but not 

[ 86 ] 


LONDON EXPERIENCES 


goodbye. Miles may divide us — time may separate us — 
but our hearts and souls will always be together.” 

Gently she broke away from him, striving hard for self- 
possession. She placed her hands on his shoulders and in a 
tremulous voice said, ‘‘Richard, my dear, it is not like your 
dear self not to be brave.” Her sweet serenity always calmed 
him, “I know,” he said, wiping the cold perspiration from his 
face, “I’m ashamed of my weakness, yet you can not blame 
me — the long, weary months of longing for you has un¬ 
manned me.” 

Crushing her hands so tightly in his that her rings hurt, 
and with one more lingering look, he quickly left the room. 


[ 37 ] 


CHAPTER XIII 


The Ruin of Ellsmere 

O N THE evening that Richard and his Uncle left London, 
the city of Kingston, Pennsylvania, was the scene of a 
very destructive fire. The great Ellsmere Iron Works 
were burning and no power could counteract the might of 
that gigantic conflagration. There was no doubt that it was 
the work of incendiaries for the fire had broken out in 
several places simultaneously. 

In vain had Mr. Ellsmere’s manager pleaded with him 
for the betterment of conditions — in vain had he warned 
him of the peril of his own welfare should he continue to 
disregard the principles that underly all honorable business 
transactions. The arrogant employer showed little consid¬ 
eration in his dealings with his fellowmen. His must be the 
gain, regardless of the ways and means of securing it; what 
suffering it might entail on others, was no concern of his. 
He had always remained as obstinate and unyielding as a 
royal despot, and the result of this he clearly read in the 
cable-message sent him by his faithful manager, who re¬ 
ported the destruction of the works. 

The catastrophe was followed by a prolonged inquiry. 
It was generally assumed that the incendiary would be found 
among the workmen and to this end a mass of evidence was 
brought forward and innumerable witnesses examined and 
cross-examined. The accused were remanded again and 
again, but the officials could not secure sufficient evidence to 
fasten the crime upon any one man. Thus the case was 

[ 88 ] 


THE RUIN OF ELLSMERE 


closed but the result was far-reaching. Never did a man 
suffer such heavy losses as the former millionaire. His 
wealth had disappeared with the glow of the flames. The 
insurance hardly covered his indebtedness for since his 
acquaintance with Lord Chandler, large sums of money had 
been diverted from his bank accounts. The great iron 
kingdom came to an end “like a tale that is told” and the 
arrogant employer was a ruined man. 

Florence was sitting in her living room reading but 
her book had failed to interest her and had dropped into 
her lap as she became absorbed in thought. Richard had 
left the city and her thoughts followed him. For a long 
time she sat there with pain throbbing in her heart. The 
memory of her last meeting with him lingered in her mind 
as a slowly-fading light. The strong clasp of his arms around 
her, the touch of his lips upon her hair — all the tenderness 
and music of his deep voice as he had repeated over and over 
again the sweet words of everlasting love and loyalty stirred 
her heart with a great joy—yet with pain. She had tried to be 
brave when they parted but the separation made her ill with 
loneliness — especially now that Lord Chandler’s persistency 
that she should marry him was getting more and more un¬ 
bearable. She recalled with scorn, Lord Chandler’s threat 
that should she refuse to marry him, he would expose her 
father and she would have to face ruin. 

The full meaning of this threat had not for the moment 
dawned upon her — she could not comprehend its signifi¬ 
cance. At first it seemed another vain attempt to bring her 
to terms but later she had discovered that the wily Lord had 
ample reasons to back his threat. * 

Pride and Duty, struggled for mastery but she resolved 
rather to suffer with her father whatever privation or even 
ignominy might result than to be married to such a man. 

She had repeatedly begged her father to return to their 

[ 89 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


home — but to no avail. The only answer she received to 
these entreaties was “marry Lord Chandler and we will go 
home to celebrate the wedding.” 

The door opened and Mr. Ellsmere staggered into the 
room in a sad state of intoxication. This was not the first 
time she had seen him in this appalling condition. He both 
gambled and drank heavily since his association with the 
nobleman. The more he played — the more he lost — and 
the more he lost — the deeper he drank to console him for 
his losses. 

Words can not describe Florence’s grief and despair 
when she finally became convinced that it was useless to try 
to save him from himself and the soulless man who had 
acquired such a pernicious influence over her father. 

“Florence,” cried Mr. Ellsmere, throwing himself into 
the nearest chair, “we are ruined!” And he gave her the 
cable informing him of the fire. 

After her first cry of frightened amazement, Florence 
said with trembling lips, “Thank God, I am saved!” 

“What do you mean, child?” demanded her father in 
astonishment. 

“I am saved from the persecutions of that man, for he 
will hardly care to marry me now that we lost our fortune.” 

“Lord Chandler could not trouble you under any cir¬ 
cumstances, since he is already married. I have just learned 
this morning that he was secretly married to an artist’s 
model in Paris about two years ago. The girl was beautiful 
— but poor — and he did not care to acknowledge her as his 
wife. A year later he deserted her and returned to London, 
His wife, hearing of his intentions to marry again, has made 
the story public. 

“Florence, my child,” he continued, “ can you ever 
forgive me for all the wrong I have done you? Great 
Heavens!” he cried in an heart-broken voice, “why was I 

[90] 


THE RUIN OF ELLSMERE 


so blind — so utterly reckless in urging this sacrifice upon 
you? I deserve the judgment which I have brought upon 
myself by my folly — but you— my innocent child — you 
will have to suffer for my sins,” and, sobered by the full 
realization of the ruin his selfishness had wrought in their 
lives, he burst into tears that choked his utterance. 

Florence, however, did not grieve for the loss of their 
fortune — on the contrary, she was almost glad, for it would 
eliminate much cause for unhappiness. She felt that there 
would take place a great transformation in her father. His 
tender thought of her even now, under the influence of 
liquor, had touched her, for of late he had been irritable and 
almost brutal in his manner. She ivas grieved for him and 
his sobs pierced her loving heart. Putting her arms around 
him, she spoke to him affectionately as she had not done 
since her childhood. 

“Don’t worry about me, father,” she said gently, “I am 
young and able to work for us both if necessary. Anything 
is preferable to being in the clutches of that vile man.” 

“The villian cheated at cards last night,” cried Mr. 
Ellsmere excitedly, and I lost fifteen thousand pounds in 
addition to what I had lost before.’” Florence started as 
he named the sum and thought of the threat made by Lord 
Chandler darted through her mind. “This morning,” re¬ 
sumed her father, “He showed me a note for that amount 
which he said I had signed. I can not remember doing so 
but the signature was in my hand. Florence, he surely 
possesses hypnotic power, for try as I might, I could not 
refuse to do his will. I drank, played, and I presume, signed 
the note at his suggestion. It almost seems like a dream for 
I can not understand how I can have been so utterly power¬ 
less to resist.” 

“But Father,” said Florence quietly interrupting him, 
“there is no use in talking how it happened that you owe 

[9i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


him such a large sum — we must think of some way to pay 
it.” 

11 That is just what I am going to tell you, dear,” he 
said guiltily, “he must have learned that his wife was here 
and knowing that his plans concerning you had fallen 
through, he is now demanding the money be paid the day it 
is due.” 

“When does it have to be paid?” asked Florence anx¬ 
iously. 

“In thirty days, and now with that fire burning up all 
I had, I am ruined and in debt. ’ ’ 

A great shock went quivering through every nerve of 
the young girl — she cared little for the loss of their fortune 
but that they w r ere compelled to be in debt to that man was a 
grievous blow that almost crushed her. For the moment, 
she was overcome, but she soon recovered; stifling her feel¬ 
ings, she resumed the conversation in a tone replete with 
such loving tenderness that it greatly comforted her heart¬ 
broken father. 

“Don’t worry, father,” she said, “I think I have enough 
money in my own right that mother left me, and with what 
I have saved weekly from my allowance, I think there will be 
more than enough to pay Lord Chandler. ’ ’ 

“But my dear child,” replied the helpless man, “that 
will leave you penniless — besides, we need some money to 
keep up our home. If we have nothing to fall back on the 
home will have to be sold for unpaid taxes.” 

“It would not be advisable, Father,” she said gently 
“for us to keep up such a big house without means to uphold 
it. The best plan would be to put it on the market for sale. 
It is much too big a house for only two people. I should 
be much happier and I know you would, Father, dear, if we 
could live in a small, cosey house by ourselves instead of 

[ 92 ] 


THE RUIN OF ELLSMERE 


being surrounded by an army of servants. I have many 
times longed to be with you alone.” 

“Florence, my dear daughter!” cried the old man, “I 
never knew until this moment what a blessing it is to have a 
child like you.” 

When her father was calmed a little, Florence bade him 
go to rest and went quietly to her own room. Now that she 
was alone, she gave way to her feelings. Bowing her head 
on the arm of her chair she wept unrestrainedly, “Oh, 
Richard, Richard! why are you not here to comfort me!” 
she cried. 

An unutterable loneliness and helplessness took posses¬ 
sion of her — the heart-hunger for Richard was almost un¬ 
bearable. She felt that she could have borne any misfortune 
bravely if only he was near her. 

“Miss Ellsmere,” said the maid who had quietly 
entered the room. Florence started up, frightened. 

“What is it?” she cried. 

“Your father is very ill,” replied the maid. 

In a moment, Florence was by his side. A physician was 
hastily summoned but there was very little for him to do. 
Mr. Ellsmere was suffering from a stroke of apoplexy and 
this resulted in his death about five hours later and during 
this time he did not have a conscious moment. 

This blow, following so closely upon the first was a 
terrible one to the grief-stricken girl, who found herself 
suddenly alone in a strange city. She was young and from 
the nature of her carefully-guarded life, was utterly ignorant 
of the world and its ways. Little wonder that she at once 
became a prey to anxious fears for the future—yet there 
were depths in the girl’s nature that had never been sounded 
and the time had arrived that would call into play all that 
was strong and noble in her character. 

[93] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


She crushed her sorrow in her brave little heart and 
performed her last sacred duty to her dead father. 

Despite her losses, Florence was by no means a poverty- 
stricken girl. She was now the sole owner of the beautiful 
Westwood estate and also of the land on which her father’s 
great iron works had stood. Nevertheless, after she had 
settled her hotel bill and had paid her father’s debt to Lord 
Chandler, she had very little available cash left — but — 
she was the daughter of a great financier and displayed re¬ 
markable business ability for one so young. 

She disposed of all her fine clothes and trunks—leaving 
out a simple tailored suit and necessities for traveling. She 
had sold everything at a great sacrifice but when she counted 
the sums they had brought her she was surprised to find 
it so much. 

The next thing was to gather up her jewelry but with 
this she could not part as they were all gifts from her Father. 
It brought her sad memories of the times when she had used 
to wear them to please him. She took them to a reliable 
London Bank and had them placed in a safety-vault. Flor¬ 
ence then wrote to her father’s attorney and asked him to 
put their Westwood estate in the market for sale. 

A few days later she took passage on a large ocean liner 
bound for New York. 


[ 94 ] 


CHAPTER XIV 


In Labor’s Ranks 

O N Edgar’s journey to Philadelphia, bright hopes filled 
his heart, but as he beheld the spires of the great city 
that was to be his home, his heart ached with a heavy 
sense of loneliness. He inquired his way to the address given 
him by Dr. Drake and after a short walk reached the hotel, 
where he presented the letter the doctor had given him at the 
desk. A porter was called and Edgar was shown into the 
private office of the manager who after reading the letter, 
spoke kindty to the boy and told him he could remain in the 
hotel until he could find a suitable lodging place. Calling the 
porter, he directed him to take Edgar to room 706 and with a 
friendly nod dismissed him. 

Full of excitement at the change in his life, it was some 
time before Edgar slept. He had read many stories of boys 
who had started out as he had — almost penniless — who had 
fought bravely and finally succeeded in winning high stations 
in life and when at last he fell asleep it was to dream of 
fortune already achieved. 

He saw himself in his dreams, rapidly gaining the con¬ 
fidence of his employer — his salary was soon increased so that 
he could send some of it to his mother. Finally his earning 
capacity became so great that Alice was relieved of the neces¬ 
sity of teaching school. Then the humble little cottage was 
exchanged for the fine old Westwood mansion and he was 
again playing hide and seek with Ellen in the beautiful daisy 
fields. 


[ 95 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


The boy awoke from these brilliant illusions to the sad 
realities of life with a sigh. The day had dawned wet and 
chilly, threatening a black storm. Shivering with cold, he set 
out without breakfast, so eager was he to be on time, with 
the purpose of finding the gentleman to whom Dr. Drake had 
recommended him. 

He did not have far to walk and in a few moments 
reached the store but it was only seven o’clock and the store 
did not open until eight. After waiting some time he finally 
became faint with hunger and went into a restaurant and 
ordered a cup of coffee and two sandwiches — the latter very 
dainty but alarmingly small. When he had nearly finished 
eating, the price-check was handed to him and aghast he read, 
“thirty-five cents.” 

“If 1 have to part with thirty-five cents for one small 
meal, how much would it take to live one week,” and “what 
will become of me if I don’t get work soon ? ” he thought. He 
figured in his head how much money he had and how much it 
would take. He decided that he would eat as little as possible 
until he found work. 

He hardly dared to think of failure as he again walked 
rapidly towards the store which he still found closed. In a 
short time, however, a well-groomed gentleman came down the 
street, and as he neared the store, took from his pocket a queer¬ 
shaped key and opened the door, at the same time looking 
carelessly at Edgar who stood in the doorway. The boy’s heart 
was in his throat as he stepped up to the gentleman. 

‘ ‘ May I see Mr. Rice, please ? ’ ’ 

“Mr, Rice left the store and the city about a month ago,” 
he said. “Where do you come from?” 

Edgar turned pale. “I came from Westwood. I was 
recommended to Mr. Rice for a position here,” he replied 
delivering the letter. 

“I thought so,” said the man taking the letter and put- 

[ 96 ] 


IN LABOR’S RANK? 


ting it into his pocket. He told Edgar to walk inside and wait 
in the office until he returned. Edgar had been there fully an 
hour when the door opened and a boy about his own age 
entered. 

“The manager is very sorry,” he said as he handed the 
letter back to Edgar, “but he has no room for extras now. If 
you can come back next month there may be a vacancy. ’ ’ 

Before Edgar could reply the lad was gone, and left alone, 
Edgar remained there standing dazed as if he had received a 
shock. 

“What can I do now?” he groaned. He put his hands 
into his pocket and took out his small amount of money again. 
Deeply troubled, he pondered ways and means on the way 
back to his room. 

“If I don’t get work in a day or two I’ll surely have to 
sell some of my things, for I can’t go back now.” 

With this last plan in his mind, his first action on reach¬ 
ing his room was to open his trunk to see what he could best 
spare. An envelope lay in a conspicuous place in the tray of 
the trunk and upon opening it, he found it to contain quite a 
little sum of money and a note from Ellen. She had put in 
some of her small savings as a parting gift. 

“Dear, dear, little sister,” he cried, kissing the loving 
note, while tears of gratitude streamed down his pale cheeks, 
“how I wish I could kiss your sweet face instead.” 

Two weeks Edgar devoted to seeking employment. His 
nights were well-nigh sleepless and he began to feel the pangs 
of hunger. During those two weeks he ate barely enough to 
sustain life, using the rest of his money for car fare. 

“If I don’t get work soon, I shall starve, though I have 
often heard people say there is plenty of work if one wishes 
it,” he thought, “but where is it? I am sure I would do any¬ 
thing even to sweeping the streets if I could earn a little 
money with which to buy food. Oh, it must be awful to 

[97] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


starve. ’ ’ At this, he would spring up in bed where he had been 
tossing to and fro. “Oh God help me,” cried the poor little 
fellow, “I would rather die than go back home a failure.” 

Weak and discouraged he arose one morning at the be¬ 
ginning of the third week and as usual continued his search 
for work through the business sections of the city. When 
almost ready to give up in despair and with all hope of ever 
meeting success in his search for work abandoned, his eyes 
fell on a large sign in a window, “Boy Wanted.” In an 
instant he, was across the street and opposite the door over 
which hung the sign “Sharper’s & Co.” 

He entered and not knowing whom to address in apply¬ 
ing for work, he asked one of the clerks if Mr. Sharper was in. 
His refined manner and dignified appearance deceived the 
man who took him for a relative of the proprietor. He was 
was told that Mr. Sharper did not come to the store before 
eleven o’clock but that he might wait as he would soon be in 
now and was shown to the private office. The room was 
furnished with great luxury. Edgar’s feet sank into the soft 
weave of the rich carpet. There was one or two softly-cush¬ 
ioned chairs, a comfortable couch that suggested stolen naps. 
It was all very cheerful and inviting. Edgar stood in the 
shadow of a window drapery with his back to the fire. 

At last the merchant made his appearance and strode 
hastily to the office — the door closing with a sharp click — 
he walked over to the grate rubbing his hands. 

‘ ‘ Whew! what nasty weather! ” he exclaimed, but stopped 
short as he nearly fell over Edgar who had advanced a step 
or two towards him. 

“ Thunderation! what in the name of mischief are you 
doing here?” he cried out angrily. “Learning the trade so 
soon?” 

Edgar understood that Mr. Sharper had taken him for a 
thief and the thought made his blood run cold. He felt his 

[98] 


IN LABOR’S RANK? 


courage sinking. He knew, however, that he must learn to 
meet and overcome many difficulties in his battle with the 
world, if he were to win, so he hid his indignation and pressed 
hack with one great effort the tears of mortified pride that had 
started to his eyes. 

‘ ‘ I saw a sign in your window that a boy was wanted here 
and I though perhaps I might get the place. I need it very 
much,” he said with mournful dignity. 

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Sharper, “wanting work. All very 
well but this is not the place nor am I the person to see about 
it.” As he spoke he looked towards the door. Edgar hardly 
knew what to do or say next. There was a buzzing in his ears 
and the room seemed to spin around him. He was roused 
from this state by the angry voice of Mr. Sharper. 

‘ ‘ Get out! This is my private office where no one enters 
unless sent for. The manager engages help — now march, ’ 9 
and he pushed the bewildered boy before him, pressing a 
button at the same time. 

He spoke curtly to the manager who came in answer to 
the summons, ‘ ‘ Here is a fellow who wants work — make room 
for him among the errand boys and see to it that I am not 
disturbed in this way again.” 

Edgar felt that he would give the world to be at that 
moment where he could lay his head on his mother’s lap and 
have a hearty cry. 

“You have done well, young man, for a beginning,” said 
the manager. “You are fortunate in not being sent off. Go 
behind that counter, there are some goods to be folded and 
done up into bundles. Get to work at once and show what you 
are good for and mind that you do not waste paper.” 

“But my wages,” said Edgar anxiously, as soon as he 
could speak, “I would like to know how much I will get.” 

“You will get as much as the other boys get—no more— 
no less, ’ ’ was the curt reply. 

[ 99 ] 


■5 > » 

) > 

> ) > 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“But how much is that?” insisted the boy. 

“Five dollars a week.” 

“Five dollars a week,” replied Edgar in a faltering voice, 
‘ ‘ can I live on that ? I am a stranger here and I have no other 
means of support.” 

The manager was not devoid of feeling and was touched 
by the woeful expression on the boy’s face. 

“It will be rather hard for you for a time,” he said in 
reply to Edgar’s pathetic question, “but I think you can get 
board and lodging for four dollars a week and you will have 
a dollar for extras. I will see what I can do for you later on — 
that is, if you are fit for anything. Your business will be to 
fold up goods and tie up parcels.” 

“I will do my best, sir,” said Edgar and mastering his 
timidity, added, “I hope I will soon get a raise.” 

“It all depends upon whether or not you are strong 
enough to keep the job,” noting the slenderness of the boy. 

Edgar’s heart sank within him. “Five dollars a week,” 
he murmured to himself. He could no longer think of aiding 
his family. The question was, how could he get along without 
aid from them. He thought of the days when he had had more 
than this for pocket money. But the manager did not allow 
him to indulge his reflections long. 

“Why don’t you begin your work?” he asked. “If you 
stand there dreaming you ’ll never do. ’ ’ 

At these words Edgar betook himself to his tasks with a 
will, working steadily all day until his arms ached. Just 
before closing time, the manager calling to him said, “Come 
tomorrow at ten o’clock, that will give you time to find a 
room.” Edgar had told him of his desire to find a cheap 
lodging as soon as possible. He thanked the manager, and 
started out hopefully. He even indulged in the luxury of a 
good supper before going to bed, for he had something to look 

[mo] 


< t 

c t ( 


IN LABOR’S RANK? 


forward to at the end of the week. The tired boy slept that 
night for both mind and stomach were at ease. 

The next morning after a hasty breakfast, he went in 
search of a room. He met a newsboy on a corner and he 
thought that from the nature of his calling, he might know of 
some such place as he wished to find, and so he asked him. 

4 ‘ If you ’re looking for a place, I can take you to one. My 
mother has a nice attic room and will be glad of a good 
lodger. ’ ’ 

“Will you take me to her?” asked Edgar eagerly. 

“After I have sold these papers — will that do?” 

Edgar had no choice but to wait until the last paper was 
sold and then he followed the newsboy to his home. 

For the first time he saw the poorer quarters of the city. 
Until now he had seen little except a few of the principal 
business streets containing large stores with their big windows 
displaying the most beautiful things, glittering and sparkling 
as though only luxury and wealth had place there. 

After several minutes’ walk the dingy, crowded streets 
began to appear. They were hopeless-looking, stamped forever 
with poverty and misery. This was not a pleasant sight for 
one so unsophisticated as Edgar to see for he had been born 
and bred in the country and had dwelt only among woodlands. 

The close atmosphere almost sickened him and he was 
filled with loathing as he looked at the people and the old 
tumbled-down houses black with age and unspeakably dirty. 
Finally they turned into a narrow alley and the newsboy 
stopped before a ricketj^ building with a sinking roof showing 
broken window panes in which rags were stuffed. The news¬ 
boy was about to enter, but was stopped by Edgar’s startled 
cry. 

‘ ‘ This is not the place, is it ? ” 

“Sure it is,” said the boy in surprise — then, more 
thoughtfully he added, “I know it aint as handsome-looking 

[IOI] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


a house as them yonder but rent’s so high in the city that poor 
folks has to do the best they can.” 

Edgar felt a shrinking sensation creep over him as he con¬ 
templated what was likely to be his future home but his 
hesitation did not last long as he reflected that there was no 
choice before him — besides, anything was preferable to de¬ 
pendence on his sister’s labor. He silently followed his com¬ 
panion up two shaky flights of stairs to the top floor. The 
newsboy threw open the door and entering, invited Edgar by a 
look to follow. 

The room was uncarpeted and unpapered. A few broken 
chairs and a table without a cover stood in one corner — a bed 
in another — a boiler filled with clothes stood on the smoking 
stove and near it was a large tub over which a delicate little 
woman with turned-up sleeves was bending, rubbing away as 
if life depended on her work. The perspiration was rolling 
down her sunken cheeks. Nothing had ever given Edgar such 
an impression of utter poverty before. As the door opened, 
the little woman turned and seeing her boy, greeted him good- 
naturedly. 

‘ ‘ Sold all your papers, honey ? There is some cabbage and 
corned beef for you on the stove, ’ ’ and then seeing for the first 
time that a stranger had entered, she stopped in confusion. 
She made an effort to smooth down her wet clothes, and wiping 
her arms came quickly forward addressing her boy in the 
meantime. 

“You’re forever playing tricks on your old mother, 
Jimmy! Why didn’t you say that you had company?” As 
she spoke she nodded her head to Edgar. Miserably poor as 
they were, there was a kind-heartedness beaming from both 
mother and son that drew the friendless boy towards them. 
Edgar felt immediately that humble as the home was, he would 
find sympthy there. One must be like him — friendless and 
alone in a big city — to understand how he yearned for this. 

[ 102 ] 


IN LABOR’S RANK? 


The newsboy hastened to explain to his mother the object 
of Edgar’s visit and the bargain was soon made. Edgar was 
to pay three dollars and a half a week, for room and board, 
but he would have to be content with scanty fare — with 
perhaps some meat on Sunday. 

The little bedchamber proved to be clean and it was 
settled his trunk should be brought at once. 


[103] 


CHAPTER XY 


The Snow Storm 

F OR MANY months the country had been under the 
shadow of a threatening coal-famine and now with one 
hundred and forty thousand men out on a strike, a 
terrible War was being waged between Capital and Labor — 
a conflict that imperilled the industrial life of the entire 
nation. 

Meanwhile the coal dealers were reaping a harvest by 
reason of the necessities of the suffering victims. The com¬ 
modity had in some places reached the price of $18.00 a ton. 
There was also a great increase in the price of the ordinary 
food produce and other articles necessary for human 
comfort. 

Naturally, the misery caused by the strike fell heaviest 
on the shoulders of the poor who had no resources upon 
which they could draw. Every cold spell brings suffering 
to them, for coal is often beyond their reach even when the 
price is moderate. But nothing they had previously 
suffered could be compared to their experiences that winter 
on account of the appalling scarcity of coal. 

Mrs. Randolph and her family shared the common fate 
of the poor that winter. Alice’s salary was hardly sufficient 
to pay their weekly bills and though the mother practised 
great economy in managing the household affairs, the ad¬ 
vanced price on all commodities soon brought dire poverty 
upon them. 

Meanwhile the ill-health of Alice increased daily and 


THE SNOW STORM 


her mother became greatly alarmed. Dr. Drake found time 
to drop in occasionally and always insisted on a rest for 
Alice, prescribing medicine, taking her out driving Satur¬ 
days and trying other means to improve her health but 
without success, and at length he became seriously concerned 
about her. 

“Alice is fast losing her health because of constant 
drudgery at school and worry about their affairs,” said the 
Doctor to his wife one day, upon returning from the cottage. 
“Should this extreme cold weather continue much longer, 
with the scarcity of coal, Heaven only knows what will be 
the result not only to the Randolphs but to the poor all over 
the country. 

“Is Alice no better, then?” asked Mrs. Drake solici¬ 
tously. 

“No, and she makes no complaints and is as cheerful as 
ever. She even forbids her mother to write to Richard to 
come home but unless something occurs to change their condi¬ 
tion, I have grave fears for their future. I sometimes think 
it is my duty to give Richard a tip as to the exact situation. 
I know he does not suspect how badly off they really are 
and he will be humiliated when he learns the truth.” 

An impatient ring at the bell cut short his wife’s reply— 
someone had called the doctor to attend a case of pneumonia 

— a frequent occurrence this winter. 

As the good doctor said, the Randolphs were in a deplor¬ 
able condition. The scanty supply of soft coal which he had 
taken to his friends the preceding week was already exhausted 
and for three days Mrs. Randolph had been without fuel. She 
had gone to several offices but had always met the same reply 

— there was none. She had been using wood eked out with 
paper and rubbish but even that had given out on Friday. 
When Alice came from school that afternoon, her mother 
greeted her with an unusually anxious expression on her face. 

05] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“You are early today, dear.” 

“Yes, mother, it was extremely cold in the school build¬ 
ing today and we were obliged to close. Why do you look so 
worried?” she continued as she noticed her mother’s anxious 
expression. “Anything out of the ordinary?” 

4 ‘ My dear, ’ ’ replied her mother, ‘ ‘ I haven’t the slightest 
idea what we are to do about fuel. I burnt the last bit of wood 
this morning and since then have been to office after office 
for coal but could get none.” 

Their conversation was interrupted when they saw Dr. 
Drake approaching. Alice went to the door and soon his 
cheery voice was heard. The good man, knowing that the 
scarcity of fuel must have increased the suffering of his friends 
had again come to offer relief in their distress bringing with 
him a bag filled with coal from his own meager supply. 

“I am going to see a patient of mine, who lives not far 
from here,” he said, “and on my way back, I shall invite my¬ 
self to a cup of hot tea,” and with a “So long — see you 
later,” he hastened to take his leave in order to avoid the 
many thanks and blessings he was sure to receive from the 
grateful mother and daughter. 

“Mother,” said Alice after Dr. Drake had gone, “I am 
going to see one of my pupils who is sick and has been absent 
for three days.” 

Her mother looked anxiously at her and said, “Alice, 
while I like to see you take so much interest in your pupils 
and feel pleased to see your willingness to help them, never¬ 
theless, I think that you are doing more than is expected of 
you . 9 ’ 

‘ € But mother, ’ ’ replied Alice, ‘ ‘ if you could only see how 
happy it makes the poor little children and their mothers 
when a teacher visits them, you would not wish me to deprive 
them of the pleasure.” 

11 My dear child, I do not wish that you should stop visit- 

« [106] 


THE SNOW STORM 


ing them altogether, hut you are over-doing it, especially now 
when you are not strong enough.” 

“Do not worry about me, mother dear,” Alice said, trying 
to be cheerful. “I feel all right and a walk in the fresh air 
will do me more good than staying in a cold house.” 

“My dear, brave child,” murmured the anxious mother 
as she watched the slight form of Alice until it was hidden 
from view. 

When Alice reached the home of the little, sick pupil, not 
only did she find the child sick but the mother and baby, also. 
An epidemic of influenza was raging in that neighborhood 
and the three were stricken with it. 

Alice did as much as she could to make them comfortable 
and hurried back, anxious to reach home before dark. She 
had not gone far when a sudden darkness seemed to envelop 
her. The sky took on the peculiar ashen hue that is the un¬ 
mistakable portent of an approaching snow storm. The melan¬ 
choly moan of the wind as it swept through the woods and 
sighed its way over the desolate fields, filled her with strange 
alarm. Her heart beat with vague terror. She tried to walk 
rapidly but with the deep snow that already lay on the ground 
and the strong wind she was facing, she could not make much 
headway. 

When about a mile from her home, the threatened tempest 
burst upon her and a wild flurry of snow-flakes drove full in 
her face. She paused and gasped for breath and almost im¬ 
mediately the lanscape seemed to narrow around her and the 
few familiar houses disappeared in the darkness. Alice stood 
for some time, uncertain what to do but after a few moments 
of doubt, she rallied her strength and resolutely continued on 
her way. The fast-falling flakes binded her by their ceaseless 
attack and the wind yelled, whistled and groaned as if all 
the agonized cries of suffering mortals were condensed into 

07] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


one continued wail of woe. She kept on her feet with difficulty 
though her hat and cloak were almost torn from her. 

Bravely she battled against the mad play of the whirling 
blizzard until her knees began to give way from sheer weak¬ 
ness and the cold almost paralyzed her whole being. At last 
her courage failed her. The breathless, bewildered girl could 
walk no longer but she did not surrender easily her fight for 
life. Hoping she was within hailing distance of some one, she 
began to call aloud with the utmost strength of her tired voice 
but the echoes of her cries were flung back by the shrieking 
wind. Hoarse from her many attempts to make herself heard, 
she at last abandoned hope. 

Like a drowning person who is resistlessly forced down¬ 
ward, she sank in the snow and yielded to the fatal drowsiness. 
Partly aroused by thoughts of home and the sorrow of her 
loved ones were she to perish there, she soon started up in a 
fresh attempt to fight the storm. But the effort was in vain. 
The numbness of death was stealing over her — so closing her 
eyes, she soon passed into unconsciousness. 

Mrs. Randolph had become terrified at the long absence 
of her daughter, and her anxiety had increased since the 
breaking of the storm. She sat by the window for some time 
watching for her return, but at last she could bear the sus¬ 
pense no longer. What mattered the snow or the blinding 
tempest to the troubled mother? She dressed quickly, gently 
kissing Ellen who lay peacefully asleep and ventured out in 
the storm. As she quickly ran down the steps, she stumbled 
against a man who was coming up. Blinded by the snow and 
darkness, she thought it was Alice and cried with eagerness, 
“Is that you, my child?” 

“It is I, Mrs. Randolph,” said the voice of Dr. Drake, 
“what is the matter?” 

The words of rejoicing died on Mrs. Randolph’s lips. “I 
thought it was Alice,” she said. 


THE SNOW STORM 


“Alice!” cried the doctor in alarm, “is she out in this 
terrific storm?” 

In a few hasty words, Mrs. Randolph told the doctor 
where Alice had gone, adding, “Oh, doctor, I fear something 
has happened to her.” 

“I hope not,” he replied gravely, “but no time is to be 
lost. Don’t despair, my friend, I will bring her directly.” He 
jumped quickly back into his car and was soon swallowed up 
in the blinding tempest. It was impossible to travel with much 
speed through the drifts of snow. 

Reaching the main road at last, he sprang from the auto 
and, searchlight in hand, walked slowly, looking long and care¬ 
fully in the deep snow for some signs of the missing girl but 
without success. His hopes sank lower and lower as he con¬ 
tinued his way for he feared that even if he found her it would 
be too late to save her. Occasionally he was forced to stop and 
warm his hands by beating them against his sides. 

“If it does not take long for a stout fellow like myself to 
become numb, what chance is there for a delicate girl like 
Alice?” he thought, “but dead or alive I must find her and 
take her to her mother, ’ ’ and again he resumed his search — 
though with many misgivings. More than once he was led into 
the belief that he had found her by the appearance of a snow- 
covered rock or other elevation. For some time he tramped on, 
struggling with as much energy as possible, but the winds 
whirled wildly into the doctor’s face rendering him almost 
breathless. 

Just as he was about to give up in despair, he saw a dark 
object close to his feet which had not been observed before 
because of the blinding flurries of snow. In an instant he 
knelt down over it. ‘ ‘ Great heaven! ” he cried, ‘ ‘ I have found 
her! ’’ 

Alice was lying with her form entirely buried in the 
snow, only her head resting on a drift, visible. He uncovered 

[109] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


her body and put his finger on her pulse but it gave back no 
answering thrill. A lump rose in his throat and the tears 
gathered in his eyes. 

“I am too late! God help me,” he groaned. He was 
about to drop the hand when he fancied he detected a faint 
pulsation — then followed another throb, more distinct. 

‘ ‘ Thank God, there is a spark of life yet! ” he cried, and 
lifting the slight, insensible form of the girl he carried her to 
the car and wrapping her in the blankets placed her carefully 
on the seat and drove with all possible speed in spite of the 
tempest, to the Randolph cottage. 

During the long absence of the doctor Mrs. Randolph had 
waited with aching heart — her terror increasing as the time 
sped by without his return. She was at last raised from 
despair by the cheery voice of the physician. 

“Here we are, Mrs. Randolph! Alice is with me,” and as 
he spoke he alighted and lifting the girl, carried her in and 
laid her on the couch at the same time saying rapidly, “get 
her out of her wet clothes, while I bring in some snow.” 

After laying Alice on the couch he turned for the first 
time to look at her mother. Mrs. Randolph was standing im¬ 
movable — her face blanched with terror as she looked at the 
cold and rigid form of her child. The doctor went up to her 
and said gently, “Do not be alarmed, dear friend, Alice is not 
dead. I will fetch her around in a few minutes — only do as I 
bid you.” This went far towards rousing her and as the 
doctor went out for the snow, she set herself to doing what she 
was ordered, though the tears streamed down her haggard 
face. 

After vigorous chafing with snow, Alice’s skin began to 
redden. 

“She is reviving,” said the doctor with great satisfac¬ 
tion. “Now for a warm bed and some flannels quickly.” 

It was a long time, however, before Alice became con- 

[iio] 


THE SNOW STORM 


scions of her surroundings. But when she did, she clasped her 
mother in a warm, affectionate embrace that brought tears to 
the good doctor's eyes for the second time that night, in spite 
of the fact that he was accustomed to scenes of great joy as 
well as of sorrow. 

The next two days being Saturday and Sunday, Alice had 
time to recover her strength. 


[in] 


CHAPTER XVI 


Brought to Bay 

F EBRUARY with its chilly mornings had come, and Rich¬ 
ard and his uncle were sitting at a cozy, round breakfast 
table that was covered with snow-white damask and fairly 
glittered with exquisite cut glass and silver. A glowing fire 
burned in the brightly-polished grate, a few shallow vases 
were filled with flowers and everything in the room was pleas¬ 
ing and cheery, giving assurance that the occupants were most 
comfortably located. 

They had returned to New York a week previously. Mr. 
Randolph had suffered two week’s serious illness while in 
Paris which had left him too weak to continue his travels. 
Richard, though troubled on account of his uncle’s frail condi¬ 
tion, had substantial reasons to be glad of their return home. 
He had heard of Florence’s misfortune and also that she was 
supposed to be in New York, where he hoped to find her. 
Since his return he had sought for her unweariedly, but in 
vain. He had sent messages and had made personal inquiries 
at the places where he thought it at all likely she might be, 
and in his desperation he had even visited the wards of the 
various hospitals but still he found no trace of her. He was 
in an agony of fear as he thought of the evils that might 
befall a homeless and friendless girl in that great city. Her 
youth and beauty and ignorance of the world’s ways, were all 
avenues where misfortune might approach her. 

One day as he eagerly scanned the columns of the news¬ 
paper in the dim hope, yet fear, of finding some clue to her 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


whereabouts, he chanced to see the statement that a young girl 
had committed suicide by jumping from the “Columbia’’ 
just before she arrived at the dock. The name given the girl 
was not “ Florence Ellsmere” yet Richard feared that perhaps 
Florence not wishing to be recognized as the daughter of the 
American millionaire had traveled under an assumed name 
and a new dread took possession of him, and his heart stopped 
beating at the terrible fear. 

The body of the girl-suicide was never recovered and to 
Richard this fact seemed to substantiate his worst fears. 
“Cease to look for her among the living” seemed to be 
written in fire upon his brain and the words haunted him 
day and night. Visions of Florence’s girlish form struggling 
with the cold, cruel waves, vainly stretching out her arms, 
praying, beseeching him to come before it was too late, were 
constantly before him. All through the long, sleepless hours, 
as he lay tossing to and fro, ignorant of her fate, he imagined 
every form of horror that a morbid mind can conjure up. 
And all these torturous fears were still more terrible to bear 
from the feelings of remorse and self-condemnation which 
Richard experienced for the neglect on his part to protect her, 
when he had divined while in London that she was in distress. 
In vain did an inner voice assure him that his strong sense of 
duty to his uncle and family was what had forbidden his doing 
other than he did, under the circumstances, and that he could 
not have acted otherwise. It requires a great deal of courage 
— that of which heroes are made — to adhere firmly to the 
demands of duty in the face of the greatest temptation that 
can befall a man — the call of the woman he adores. 

It cost Richard many a fierce mental struggle not to 
forego all — sacrifice everything to his yearning desire to 
search for his beloved at all costs and all sacrifices. But he 
felt he had a solemn duty to perform to which he must adhere. 
He had vowed to take his father’s place and guard and protect 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


his family — to work and provide for them, and to that end he 
must labor before he could think of his own happiness and 
therefore he was determined to work unceasingly until he had 
achieved his aim and taken his father’s place in the world. 

After looking into their financial affairs during the sum- • 
mer months he had remained at home, Richard was surprised 
to find how great a change his father’s business had undergone 
the year prior to his death — it seemed far less flourishing 
than formerly. He spoke of this to Dr. Drake and the latter 
told him not to worry and that he would do his utmost to look 
after the welfare of the family during Richard’s absence. 
But in spite of the doctor’s assurance that there was no 
cause to worry and although the replies to his inquiries 
received from his mother and sister were always care¬ 
fully guarded and non-committal, Richard was not satisfied, 
he had a feeling that matters at home had reached a crisis 
and he was uneasy and restless. No one, not even his mother 
and sister knew how much he suffered for their sakes, in 
abandoning the sweetest hope of his young life — that of 
uniting with her whom he loved with all the intensity of noble 
youth, and so, notwithstanding the gnawing pain and grief 
that caused his untold restlessness and yearning for his own, 
Richard adhered to his post and performed his duty as he 
vowed to do at his father’s deathbed — to devote his life to 
caring for his family — and he was doing it to the best of 
his ability. 

It had been easier to bear this sacrifice which he had made 
as long as he knew that Florence was under her father’s pro¬ 
tection and was independently rich, but now that she might 
be suffering misfortune, his yearning for her and his despair 
at what might be her possible fate, were beyond description. 
Only those who have loved and lost — those who have been 
prevented by an insuperable obstacle from being at the bed¬ 
side of some dear one at the last sacred hours full of precious 

[ IX 4] 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


memories of whispered words and never-to-be-forgotten glance 
of affection, could realize the aching void in Richards’ heart 
when he thought of the possibility of Florence being no more. 
And moreover, he had been deprived even of the consolation 
of being near her. 

Mr. Randolph had keenly mistrusted that his nephew 
felt more than a passing interest in Florence Ellsmere, and 
he had also discovered that the young man was seeking her in 
New York, although Richard had vainly endeavored to conceal 
his anguish from the sharp eyes of his uncle. While sitting 
at breakfast on the February morning and stirring his coffee 
lazily, the elder man broached the subject in his usual abrupt 
manner. 

“Well, Richard, what progress are you making in your 
search for Miss Ellsmere ? ’ ’ 

Richard was startled at the unexpected question for he 
did not dream that his uncle took such interest in his personal 
affairs. 

“I have searched all New York,” he at last replied with 
his customary frankness, “but thus far my efforts have been 
fruitless — and she seems to have disappeared entirely. ’ ’ 

“Then she must have gone to her home.” 

“I know that she did not because I have communicated 
with her attorney, ’ ’ replied Richard, suppressing a sigh. 

“You seem to worry considerably over her.” 

“You know Miss Ellsmere and I have been friends from 
childhood and therefore I can not help being interested in her 
fate. Furthermore, I consider it my duty to find and protect 
her, since she has, I fear, no other friend in the world. I am 
in dread of hidden dangers to which she is exposed by her 
absolute inexperience of the great evils which still surround 
her. ’ 9 He made no mention to his uncle of his worst fears. 

“Upon my soul, Richard, one would think you were smit¬ 
ten with the lost girl.” 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“I love her,” said the young man simply, “I have been 
the most unhappy man living since I learned she was free — 
yet lost to me.” 

“I thought you told me sometime ago when I suggested 
marriage between you and Miss Palmer that you were in no 
position to marry.” 

“That is true, uncle. Mother and the children are looking 
forward to the time when I shall be in a position to provide 
for them; that time is not yet — far from it, ’ ’ he added 
gloomily. 

“Then how do you expect to marry Miss Ellsmere should 
you find her ? ’ ’ 

“I gave up all hopes of ever marrying her when her 
father was living and she was wealthy with prospects of mak¬ 
ing a brilliant match. I was unable to offer her anything in the 
way of wealth or high social position. I had nothing but my 
love and I could not stand in the way of far brighter prospects 
for her.” 

“How do you know she returns your affection?” 

‘ ‘ When I met her in London we had an understanding. ’ ’ 

“When did you get an opportunity to speak to her?” 
asked Mr. Randolph in surprise. “I thought her father took 
good care not to allow you that pleasure.” 

Richard reddened as he answered, “We contrived to ex¬ 
change a few words at Lady Palmer’s reception, and later I 
saw her at her hotel. ’ ’ 

“Hm! Sounds rather romantic, doesn’t it? But see here, 
young man, if I were you, I wouldn’t take matters so much to 
heart. There are other girls in my opinion, as attractive as 
Miss Ellsmere and I believe you could win one of them with 
no great difficulty. It’s all nonsense — this talk of not being in 
a position to marry and of your duty to wed Miss Ellsmere 
in order to offer her your protection. Bah! you’re too senti¬ 
mental— why man, if you’d accept the salary I offered you 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


as my private secretary, yon could provide for a wife and 
your father’s family, too. Of course I have no objection to 
your marrying Miss Ellsmere if you’ve set your heart on it, 

— she is a mighty nice girl — but I’d be rather pleased to have 
you favor one of the others you have met — Miss Rockland, 
for instance. Now she has wealth and beauty — she’s a girl 
you could be proud of winning and — if I’m not mistaken —” 
he added, ‘‘ she appears not a little in love with you. ’ ’ 

This was too much for Richard. He rose hastily, unable 
to conceal his anger, and with a polite, ‘‘Good morning, 
uncle,” walked towards the door. 

‘ ‘ But where are you off to in such a hurry ? ’ ’ 

“To keep my appointment with Professor Hart, rela¬ 
tive to resuming my studies, ’ ’ he replied briefly as he went out. 

“So the cat is out of the bag,” thought the old man. 
“This is the cause of his indifference to other women, “The 
rascal, ’ ’ he added with a chuckle, ‘ ‘ I admire his spirit though 

— and he was angry, by Jove! Controls his feelings well, 
too.” 

“What do you find so engrossing there?” asked Mr. 
Randolph that same evening as Richard pored over the paper, 
apparently with great interest. 

“I am running over a speech dealing with the labor 
question,” Richard answered, looking up. 

“Why waste your time on those revolutionary speeches?” 
exclaimed his uncle impatiently — then in quite another tone, 
he went on, “I have reserved seats at the Metropolitan for 
tonight — surely that ought to interest you. ’ ’ 

“The theatre and opera have less attraction for me now 
than in the past, ’ ’ he replied, smiling in spite of himself at the 
old man’s tone. “But, uncle, I would not accuse men who are 
working in the interest of humanity of being revolutionists. 
I fear you know little of the motives that actuate these men 

[” 7 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


or you would not charge them so severely, not to say erro¬ 
neously. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ I know enough of them and their doings from the news¬ 
papers/’ retorted Mr. Randolph. “Heaven protect me from 
closer contact! ’ ? 

“If that is your only source of information, I do not 
wonder that you are misinformed; for, however fairly they 
may, and often do, deal with this question, they can not offer 
an impartial, clear exposition of principles that require a 
close personal knowledge. If you possessed more accurate 
knowledge of the vital principles of the new social system 
advocated, you could estimate more correctly its significance ; 
at the same time, you would hold a more favorable opinion of 
the men whose earnest endeavor it is to reform the masses that 
they may put forth properly-directed effort — more sober and 
saner judgment in meeting the serious crises that grow out of 
the desperate struggle for better conditions.” 

“Nonsense, my boy, I fear you are more seriously misled 
in regard to this question than I am. You are deceived as a 
good many others are, by those so-called reformers and smooth¬ 
tongued speeches — in reality they are demagogues who breed 
discontent, preach the dangerous gospel of class hatred and 
conspire with their fellow workers to bring about the ruin of 
their employers, many of whom have been brought to bank¬ 
ruptcy by—” 

“By their own extravagance often,” interrupted Richard, 
having in mind the case of Ellsmere. “They will spend 
thousands of dollars on diamonds and for palatial residences; 
they waste extravagant sums in feasting and gambling; in 
seeking social prominence dbroad; and in pleasures that often 
fall little short of crime and — should they be confronted with 
bankruptcy — the workingman, who demands full value for 
the product of his toil is held responsible and the old cry is 

[u8] 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


again sounded, ‘The country is being ruined by the unions 
and strikes’.” 

“While listening to you,” replied his uncle, “lam almost 
inclined to believe that you are also numbered among the 
fanatics who, I have no doubt, would ruin the country if they 
were intrusted with power. Their theories sanction the over¬ 
throw of law, order, religion and morality. I would be very 
much disappointed in you, Richard, if you were to become 
one of them.” 

“I must plead guilty, even now,” said the young man, 
laughing lightly — then, more seriously, he added, “lam one 
who wishes to exercise his power in behalf of a new era of hope 
for the hopeless; I am one of those who wish to work especially 
for the emancipation of the working class — yet I am a lover of 
peace and harmony and I plead not guilty of plotting revolu¬ 
tion or wishing to overthrow law, order, religion and morality. 
When I speak for myself,” he added gravely, “I speak for 
the others.” 

As Mr. Randolph made no reply, he continued quickly, 
“but let me assure you uncle, that it is the selfishness, greed 
and tyranny practised by a few individuals — who exercise 
greater power in this land of equality than kings ever did — 
that threaten our country with ruin; for if the war between 
capital and labor is waged much longer, it must, I fear, end in 
disaster unless men with intelligent minds will work unceas¬ 
ingly to educate the masses and bring better conditions for all 
mankind. 

“Hunger and ignorance brought about the French revo¬ 
lution and this is just what progressive thinkers of today are 
trying to present. A revolution will undoubtedly come before 
a new system — based on the principles of truth and justice 
— can be established, but it will come only through the enlight¬ 
enment of the masses and gradual preparation and education 
of all classes — it will be a revolution of ideas.” 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


‘ ‘ Tut, tut! ’ ’ exclaimed Mr. Randolph. ‘ ‘ What a heap of 
nonsense you can pour forth in one breath. It’s simply folly 
trying to work these sudden changes. Any effort on your part 
— or on that of the other ‘ reformers ’ as you call them — is, in 
my opinion, useless and unnecessary. Conditions have always 
been just as they are and they will always continue so to be. 
Leave things alone and they will turn out all right in the 
future, say I.” 

Richard could not restrain a smile at the last rejoinder. 

‘ ‘ Human progress, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ depends upon the work of 
men. The history of a nation’s progress is, in reality, the 
history of the great endeavor and self-sacrificing achieve¬ 
ments of its great men — the leaders! You will admit, uncle, 
were it not for human unrest or the resistless impulses towards 
progress — the ever-present desire to better all things — the 
human race could boast of little advance in civilization since 
the dawn of history. Your words are to me the gospel of in¬ 
activity, the philosophy of stagnation. And, yet, I do not 
blame you, uncle, for opposing the idea of radical improve¬ 
ments of present conditions. You are one of the countless 
number who stoutly protest against any new reforms — not 
that you are really satisfied, as you would have one suppose — 
any more than I am. It is quite in keeping with human nature 
that outcry should be made against any change, as an attack 
on what we are accustomed to term, ‘our sacred rights.’ Al¬ 
ways and ever, the man who raises his voice and lends his 
energies to lift humanity to a purer, more wholesome, uplift¬ 
ing strata of life, is charged with seeking to destroy the 
established form of government to the injury of the people 
and the aggrandizement of self. Invariably such men are 
called extremists — fanatics at first — and not until after 
their death, when history has shown what great benefit the 
world has derived from their influence and their endeavor, do 
we honor their memory! ’ ’ 


[ 120 ] 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


“Yon are just as much of an idealist as your father was,” 
remarked Mr. Randolph finally. This was the usual reply to 
his nephew whenever he found an argument unanswerable, 
and it generally amused Richard, for it always gave him an 
opportunity of pleading the cause of the poor and unfortunate 
in defending his father’s views. However, on this particular 
evening, Richard did not deem it wise to follow up his ad¬ 
vantage, for he thought he had said enough, so he took up 
his paper again. 

Mr. Randolph seemed to be in a talkative mood, however, 
and presently he said, “By the way, Richard, as a radical or 
reformer, or whatever you choose to style yourself, would 
you marry the girl you love?” 

The young man colored with indignation. He understood 
his uncle’s sarcastic allusion. 

‘ ‘ Why do you ask ? ” he said in a voice he tried to restrain 
and compose, though he was angry at the insinuation. 

“Are not ‘free love’ and ‘no God,’ important theories of 
the new philosophy advocated by the social reformers?” de¬ 
manded the elder man carelessly. ‘ ‘ Surely if their ideas and 
practices were not distinctly irreligious along this line, their 
opponents would not take such pains to denounce them. ’ ’ 

“Among reformers, as among other people, men hold 
diverse views concerning the marriage tie or religion. But 
it is safe to say that the philosophy we speak of has no bearing 
on the free love question and carries with it no peculiar doc¬ 
trines concerning religion. What reformers do hope to bring 
about in the near future, however, is the lifting of the mask 
of insincerity and hypocrisy from modern Christian society 
and abolish all marriages not based on true love, even though 
these mockeries have the sanction of the so-called “Man of 
God” for a consideration. 

“The general interpretation of religion today is but a 
travesty on what religion should be. It causes bloodshed and 

[ 121 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


divided nations. It engenders hatred between races, and gives 
to a ruler the power to crush his subjects by his tyranny. It 
institutes massacres in the name of all that should be held most 
sacred. Under its ruling, it becomes a small matter for a man 
to rob or even murder his fellowmen, since he may so easily 
pacify his conscience and religious scruples by various and 
munificent public gifts in the name of charity. The religion 
the new generation will depend upon for inspiration is em¬ 
bodied in the command, ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’ That 
injunction is simple and if carried out, it would solve all 
problems. 

“You wish to know if I, as a radical, would marry the 
girl I love,” he continued gravely. “It would be the realiza¬ 
tion of my happiest dreams (if by God’s grace I ever find her) 
to make her my wife according to the prescribed marriage 
laws, since our union would not be legalized without. But do 
not think that the marriage ceremony or a few words spoken 
by a minister, priest or rabbi, makes the bond between man 
and wife more sacred, for were this the case, we would not 
hear of so many divorces. As a matter of fact, large numbers 
of men and women are false, despite the legal bond and are 
easily led astray to the destruction of lawful happiness. I 
repeat it — marriages should be based on love and on mutual 
understanding of soul with soul — not on position and the 
mere acquisition of a home. Nothing on this earth is more 
powerful to destroy the home peace and happiness and to 
impel many a woman to break from the path of virtue, than 
trying, burdensome poverty. 

“Destroy poverty and we eliminate much that tends to 
the degradation of humanity. This is what intelligent, en¬ 
lightened men are trying to bring to pass. The world’s 
progress depends largely upon the efforts of these men with 
the vision. They aim to improve and elevate the government 
to a point where the principles of brotherhood will be oper- 

[ 122 ] 


BROUGHT TO BAY 


ative, that should predominate in all the relations of life. 
They aim to introduce a new social system, the prevailing 
watchword of which will be, ‘One for All and All for One.’ 
Under such a form of government, men and women could live 
in restful peace, content to spend their time and energies in 
the pursuit of true love, happiness, and the development of 
the best within them. They would be satisfied to expend 
thought upon the proper performance of life’s manifold duties. 
Such a system would do away with all incentives to engage in 
the mad rush for wealth and power. Husband and wife would 
be true to their marriage vows, for love — and that only-— 
would prompt marriage unions.” 

“Well, Richard,” said his uncle, “you paint a fair picture 
of the future, and I almost wish such conditions could come to 
pass and that I might take a hand in hastening this new era 
of which you speak.” 

The old man rose as he spoke and left the room to conceal 
his emotion, for the consciousness of his own failures in life 
weighed heavily upon him. 


[ I2 3] 


t 


CHAPTER XVII 


A Visit to the Slums 

T HE FOLLOWING day was Saturday, the one day in the 
week to which Mr. Randolph looked forward with 
eagerness for then he had Richard by his side while 
taking his daily drive. 

“How lonely I am without him,’’ he would murmur to 
himself, “I had not thought I could love anyone as I do him.” 

Richard was not a little surprised when on this Saturday 
his uncle expressed a wish to drive to the poor quarters of 
the city but he grasped the opportunity and turned in that 
direction, for he had long wished to introduce his uncle to 
that phase of city life. Certain characteristics of the locality 
they were approaching made themselves apparent before 
they reached that section. The pure radiance of the golden 
sun was dimmed by the smoke clouds and the unmistakable 
evidence of the change in the atmosphere was stifling. What 
a grim picture of ugliness presented itself as they neared the 
dark, dirty streets. This vast sink of filth and destitution, 
vice and disease, was a new world to the old man who had 
heretofore seen at close range only the sunny side. 

He held a white linen handkerchief to his nose as they 
passed the junk shops, fish and meat markets, saloons and 
grocery stores. From some of the latter came the smell of 
greasy cooking, indicating that families lived in the rear 
of the store. Numerous other shops there were, where 
sausages, fruit, cigarettes, pipes and pastry were dimly 
visible through the windows that evidently had not been 
washed for many months. 


[ I2 4] 


A VISIT TO THE SLUMS 


Here and there an old gray-liaired man could be seen 
peddling shoestrings, pencils and collar buttons, while 
women w T ere picking up rags and bones. Little children, 
dirty beyond description, stood about, some eating rotten 
fruit that a fruit peddler had thrown away. 

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Randolph, “how can 
these miserable wretches live here?” 

“Many of these miserable wretches, Uncle, have in them 
a longing for better things, but their poverty hangs about 
their necks like a millstone and fixes their place and station 
here in these abodes of helpless and never-ending misery. 
But you have not seen all. I fully believe that you would be 
thoroughly convinced that radical measures must be em¬ 
ployed for the benefit of their conditions, could you but look 
into the mills and sweatshops, where thousands of men, 
women and children toil unceasingly at the hard tasks that 
crush out their lives, or go into homes and find large families 
living in one or two small, comfortless, dark rooms, where 
the close atmosphere sickens one with the deadly stench and 
where the filth breeds disease all the year round.” 

Mr. Randolph made no reply to this and Richard went 
on as though speaking to himself, “Ah, God help the little 
children in the misery to which they are unwittingly ex¬ 
posed — freezing in the winter, d}dng like flies in the hot 
weather for lack of proper food and fresh air! And what 
hope is there for those little ones who escape the grave? 
They are half-starved, scantily clothed, living in wretched 
holes, without sunshine, without a breath of pure air. Their 
environment is poverty, ignorance, filth and disease. Grow¬ 
ing up amid loathsome surroundings and conditions, with 
no moral or mental training, exposed to the vilest tempta¬ 
tions— what chance is there for them ever to become good 
citizens ? ’ ’ 

“Enough, Richard, enough!” cried his Uncle in accents 

[ I2 S] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


of pain, for the vision of a little child of whose whereabouts 
he had not the slightest trace, presented itself to his mind.' 
He could picture a lone little wanderer in the world, perhaps 
forsaken, abused, hungry, cold, crying for the help that 
rightfully belonged to it but of which it knew naught. 
Wherever he fixed his gaze, there the sad, reproachful eyes 
of the child stared him in the face. 

“Oh, God !” he unconsciously murmured. 

“Forgive me, dear Uncle,” cried Richard remorsefully, 
“I did not mean to pain or annoy you so. I shall not forget 
myself again.” 

Mr. Randolph did not trust himself to speak. Taking 
out his handkerchief, he blew his nose violently, half con¬ 
cealing his face the while, though perhaps it was but a 
pretence to hide his emotion. 

Neither spoke for some time until Mr. Randolph, notic¬ 
ing a crowd of people in front of a large building nearby, 
called Richard’s attention to it. At a glance Richard at 
once understood its meaning. He had witnessed this pitiful 
scene before. A thousand wan, hungry-looking men and 
women, shivering with cold and with crying children cling¬ 
ing to their hands, were waiting for the food of charity. 

“It is one of the city’s relief stations, where the poor 
are aided,” he exclaimed. “I fear we will have to turn back 
— it will be impossible to pass as the street is so crowded. 

“Then let us stay here and watch them awhile,” said 
his Uncle much to Richard’s amazement. 

“Perhaps you would like to go inside and watch the 
spectacle at closer range,” Richard suggested somewhat anx¬ 
iously it must be confessed. “We can see nothing from 
where we are.” 

The fact was that he did not think it would be safe 
remaining there in the midst of those hungry wretched men 
and women, made vicious and desperate by cold and hunger. 

[126] 


A VISIT TO THE SLUMS 


Many an envions look gleamed in the eyes of those observing 
the large tonring car and its occupants. 

‘‘Will they, allow us in?” asked Mr. Randolph rather 
nervously. 

“Indeed they will. I have been there myself many 
times. ’’ 

Mr. Randolph hardly realized that he had been gradu¬ 
ally yielding and permitting himself to be led by his 
nephew’s superior moral sway, ever since the beginning of 
their acquaintance. 

He left the car leaning on Richard’s arm. The crowd 
made way for them as they moved towards the hall. They 
were admitted without hesitation and shown every courtesy. 
Was there ever a time when the wealthy failed to inspire 
that attitude in their less fortunate brothers?” 

Mr. Randolph sighed as he watched the crowds of 
hungry men, women and children file in, crowding and 
pushing in their attempts to reach the coveted goal at the 
best speed they could. It was indeed a sight to move a heart 
of stone. How helpless they seemed to be •— that great 
procession of miserable human beings winding around the 
tables, eager for one meal. The extent of the misery and 
degradation it represented in a land of plenty, was an infi¬ 
nite incalculable outrage — an unspeakable blot on all pre¬ 
tensions to equality and brotherhood. Ah, the disgraceful 
necessity for having to raise funds for the furnishing of 
food for the hungry in the very heart of a wealthy city. A 
deep shame is always attached to charity balls and benefits 
for the poor and needy — not to those who are forced to 
partake — but those in power who placidly permit such 
conditions to exist. 

Here, too, were to be seen people carrying away small 
quantities of coal, a circumstance that for the first time made 
the coal-famine a stern reality to the man of money. He 

[ I2 7] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


shuddered as he awoke to the realization of how utterly 
helpless he was to remedy the existing evils which he had -— 
in a not entirely indirect way, helped to bring about. He 
blamed himself for being so persistently blind to the actual 
facts pertaining to the life of the masses; so cold to the 
justice of their needs — and as he voluntarily looked upon 
its horrors, he was filled with a longing to help this unfortu¬ 
nate class. 

He thought with bitterness of his declining health. 

“A life wasted,” he sighed. “I am too old and too 
weak to be of any assistance to them now. My wealth would 
be but a handful of sand in the ocean. Power, courage, and 
force of character are needed to deal wisely and helpfully 
with these unfortunate beings and I am helpless/’ he mur¬ 
mured to himself again and again. He turned to Richard 
who was at that moment engaged in earnest conversation 
with the President of the Relief Committee A gleam of 
pride, of admiration and hope, leaped to the old man’s 
sunken eyes as he watched the expressive thoughtful face 
of his nephew. 

“He will do it! he will do it! he is walking in his father’s 
footsteps. His father’s chief aim in life was always to better 
the conditions of the poor. Even as the lad is continuing the 
noble work his father left undone — so will he do also the 
work I should have done and never attempted to do.” 

In a little while Richard joined his Uncle. Taking his 
arm, Mr. Randolph asked to go to the car. 

“Come away, come away, Richard,” he whispered, “I 
have seen enough!” 

The young man noticed with unspeakable joy that his 
Uncle’s eyes were dim with the dews of human sympathy. 
As they were about to leave the hall, Mr. Randolph placed a 
roll of money in the hand of the president of the committee. 

Both drew long breaths as they stepped outside—though 

[128] 


A VISIT TO THE SLUMS 


but little difference existed in the outside atmosphere and 
that of the hall. Hundreds of hungry beings still besieged 
the place. 

“Uncle, what do you think of such a deplorable condi¬ 
tion in a land of plenty?” asked the young man as they 
drove home. “Is it not a disgrace to our boasted civiliza¬ 
tion ? ’’ 

But the older man did not appear to hear him — he was 
looking with a sad intensity at the crowd of people that came 
forth from a tall, smoky building near by. It was after five 
o’clock and the toiling masses were released from their work. 
Some of the crowd had dirty faces, while others were half- 
washed ; many were clad in well-worn clothes whose ugly 
odor betrayed the work upon which the wearer was engaged. 
They were in truth, a spectral, hopeless, poorly-nourished 
crowd. 

Pushing through the crowd were women with heavy 
bundles in their arms containing their purchases for the 
Sabbath but nearly all of them had pale anxious faces, 
telling of privation and limitation. Young boys and girls 
scarcely old enough for a long day of hard labor were 
carried unresistingly along with the crowd; they were com¬ 
ing from work with small lunch-bags in their cold hands — 
poor youngsters — who still ought to have been in school — 
compelled to earn their meager living. 

The two men rode in silence for some moments. Pres¬ 
ently Mr. Randolph asked, “Richard, what would you do if 
you were rich ? ’ ’ 

The young man smiled. “I don’t know, Uncle. Perhaps 
I would do as other rich men do — accumulate wealth and 
waste it.” 

“I thought you believed it unjust to accumulate wealth 
and that the laws of inheritance are wrong?” 

[ I2 9] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“So I do. But under the present system, when every¬ 
one is looking out for himself, it becomes a necessity to do as 
others do. Nevertheless, I would earnestly try to practise 
the Golden Rule by doing as I would be done by and increase 
my wealth by honorable methods only. ’ ’ 

“And under the new social system you spoke of yester¬ 
day?” 

“The establishment of a new social system also means 
the establishment of equality in wealth and power. Under 
such a system, none could gain a livelihood without personal 
effort in whatever field of endeavor they are best adapted to. 
All would enjoy recompense as the fruit of their labor and 
it would be useless to strike for limitless wealth. Such use¬ 
less opulence would not — as now — be regarded as great 
honor to the possessor but something quite to the contrary. 
Under that system we would not hear of one child born a 
millionaire and another a pauper. All would share in the 
gifts of nature — all be given a fair start. All should have 
equal opportunity for study and self-culture—for the enjoy¬ 
ment of freedom and independence and for individual 
development along the lines of their natural bent and talents. 
Intelligence and inventive genius will be the watchwords 
of the new generation. Men and women will devote them¬ 
selves to inventions, literature, music, as more worldly 
desires decline. They would live in the knowledge that 
true superiority lies in brain and soul and that the test of 
genius lies not in the number of accumulated dollars but in 
the intellectual, spiritual and moral worth of man. 

“When God created his world he crowned his work by 
placing man over and above all and provided for him natural 
resources of wealth, such as land, light, heat, air, fruit, water 
and grain but he meant for him to live by the sweat of his 
brow, to be free and independent, sowing and reaping on 
his own land for himself and family, rejoicing in the fullness 

[130] 


A VISIT TO THE SLUMS 


of his harvest and fatness of his flock — and to have free 
access to the beautiful gifts of nature.” 

A short pause ensued during which Mr. Randolph 
seemed lost in meditation. 

“After all I have witnessed today,” he said finally, “I 
am almost convinced that a radical change is necessary in 
present conditions — but I have grave doubts if such a 
change as you and those who think like you propose 
will take place — or could prove effectual over the habit 
of thought of centuries that inclines erring human nature 
vigorously to combat the practical realization of these 
uplifting ideals. Greed, selfishness, cruelty and injustice are 
too deeply rooted in humanity for the faintest possibility of 
immediately realizing the beautiful principles of the new 
reform that you have so ably expounded to me. They 
appear simply like a charming dream, I fancy, too intangible 
to be real.” 

“Isn’t it at least better to cherish beautiful dreams, 
though not yet realized, than bad dreams that are true?” 

“I have little faith in either kind,” said the old man 
sadly. 

Mr. Randolph slept but little that night. His wealth 
had been increased by methods not always open to careful 
scrutiny but never before had his conscience upbraided him 
for his practices. For a long while he lay thinking over 
the scenes of the day and his conversation with Richard the 
evening before. At last he drifted into uneasy slumber in 
which dreams had shaped and distorted his waking thoughts 
into a fearful panorama of human suffering. 

He saw little sufferers stifling in the stench of the walls 
that imprisoned them. He saw the bare feet of frozen 
human beings protruding from drifts of snow. Hopeless 
despairing widows and starving orphans followed him, 
crying for bread. A crowd of men, some old, some young, 

[*31] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


ran swiftly by him, hands extended and eyes aflame—those 
behind fought and tore at those in advance. Some fell and 
were crushed, but ever the advancing number grew, they ran 
on over the fallen heaps unmindful, — deaf to the cry of 
agony, for their eyes were fixed in the distance on a glimmer 
of gold. 

Then the scene shifted and there rose about him skele¬ 
tons of men and women who lives had been sacrificed to 
the great god Gain. 

How they grinned and gibbered at him, and he cried out 
“ Mercy! Mercy!” 

“What is the matter, uncle?” asked Richard, coming in 
hastily from an adjoining room, where he had sat reading. 

The old man looked wistfully for a minute, and then 
turning his face to the wall he replied “I — I have had a 
bad dream, Richard.” 


[132] 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Introducing Dr. H. D. White 

S EVERAL weeks had elapsed since Edgar Randolph had 
entered Mr. Sharper’s store. He was paler and his step 
less vigorous, for, in the hope of an advance in his wages, 
the poor boy had not spared himself. Sometimes he left the 
store so fatigued that he could scarcely crawl home. Not hav¬ 
ing been accustomed to that kind of work, he consequently 
suffered to a degree that others — never having been sub¬ 
jected to like conditions — could hardly comprehend. Though 
the manager often told him he was a better boy than most of 
the others, not one word of encouragement had he even given 
Edgar regarding an increase in wages. 

The boy made many attempts to secure other employment, 
hoping to earn more money, but every inquiry proved un¬ 
successful. His delicate appearance always brought the same 
shake of the head, accompanied by the statement, “You won’t 
do.” 

One of the clerks in the store took a particular interest 
in Edgar and one Saturday the boy’s disappointed look when 
he opened the envelope containing his wages, touched him. 
As he joined Edgar on the walk home, he spoke to him in 
kindly fashion. 

“You look too delicate to work so hard, my boy,” he said, 
‘ ‘ and I am afraid you are not so well as when you came here. ’ ’ 
“Oh, do you think so?” replied Edgar anxiously. He 
had been conscious lately of a feeling of weakness, he did not 
always sleep well and sometimes rose with a headache, but he 

[ J 33] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 

tried hard to take no notice of these disquieting symptoms 
for they threatened to interfere with his secret wish to work 
very hard and so attract his employers’ attention and get 
higher wages. The possibility of growing weaker and having 
to give up work altogether and becoming a burden upon his 
sister again, made him sick at heart. 

“Don’t you think I am strong enough to work?” he asked 
finding that his companion had not replied to his first ques¬ 
tion. 

“You might be able to do something but you really are 
not able to work so hard as you have been working.” 

Edgar, though reserved by nature, was confidential 
enough with one who showed genuine interest in him, and his 
little heart opened itself freely to his companion. He told of 
his family — of his purpose in coming to Philadelphia and 
his cherished wish to help his sister earn a living. 

It was some time before the clerk spoke. He also, was 
working on an insufficient salary in the endeavor to support an 
aged mother, a wife and two children, and was therefore in 
a position to sympathize with Edgar. His experience as clerk 
for ten years in Mr. Sharper’s store, tempted him to laugh in 
secret bitterness at the mere idea of an errand boy hoping to 
get more than five dollars a week. 

“You work beyond your strength,” he said at last, “and 
I fear if you work twice as hard, you will never attract Mr. 
Sharper’s attention or get more pay.” 

“The manager said that if I do good work, he will see 
what he can do for me,” said Edgar, “and I think I have done 
my share.” 

“You sure have, my boy, but don’t depend upon what the 
manager said. He tells all the new help the same yarn. ’ ’ 

He was sorry to undeceive Edgar but he knew that if the 
poor boy continued to overwork, he might do irreparable 
injury to his constitution and gain nothing in the end. He 

[ J 34] 


INTRODUCING DR. H. D. WHITE 


looked at him anxiously to note the effect of his words upon 
the boy. 

“You think/’ faltered Edgar, “that there is no chance 
for me to earn more as long as I stay in Mr. Sharper’s store?” 

“I fear so.” 

« 

Edgar turned pale — the conviction that his self-sacrifice 
had been in vain was almost unbearable to him — he turned 
his face away too proud to show his emotion. 

“Yes,” continued the clerk in a musing tone talking to 
himself rather than to Edgar, “a poor, friendless boy has 
little chance to make his way in a great city. Occasionally 
after many years of toil and self-sacrifice, one succeeds in 
acquiring a measure of wealth but the great majority merely 
exist or perish in the struggle for fortune. Without capital 
a man has poor chance to advance. 

“Is there no place,” asked Edgar with an effort, “where 
one can work his way up ? Surely it can’t be so hard every¬ 
where. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ There are some places and you can secure them but you 
see those who have the opportunity to get good positions keep 
them, and there is seldom a vacancy. ’ ’ 

“Won’t you tell me if you happen to hear of such a place? 
I wouldn’t leave Mr. Sharper’s store, of course, without giving 
a fair notice.” 

“If I hear of a suitable place for you I will gladly tell 
you but your honorable conduct would be thrown away upon 
Mr. Sharper, ’ ’ he added with a touch of irony, ‘ ‘ he would not 
hesitate to lay you off without a moment’s warning, if it suited 
him. By the way,” he continued, “would you like to see the 
mansion he lives in? It’s only a few blocks from here.” 

Edgar did not mind walking the short distance and they 
were soon standing in front of an imposing stone building, 
fashioned after an ancient style of architecture. 

“You see,” said the clerk as they scrutinized the 

[ T 35] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


residence, “people who live in such palaces must take the 
cost out of poor devils like us.” 

There was little more said as they walked on and soon 
after their ways separated. Edgar walked home with feeble 
steps. His supper remained untasted and making some excuse 
to his landlady, who had watched him anxiously, he went up¬ 
stairs to his room and threw himself on the bed with bitter 
sobs. 

On Monday morning Edgar came down at the usual hour, 
his kind landlady watching him in the meantime, for she was 
well aware that he had slept but little and she was growing 
alarmed at his failing health. She longed to notify his family, 
but knew that his sensitive pride would never allow her to do 
so, for he persisted in keeping his affairs to himself and bear¬ 
ing his grief in his brave little heart. Now, however, she would 
have acted without his consent but did not know where to 
address her communication. 

Edgar’s usually pale cheeks were flushed that morning 
and his eyes were brilliant with fever. 

“You’ve caught cold, Master Edgar,” said the woman. 

‘ ‘ If you will stay home today I ’ll fix something for you that I 
always give my boy when he has a fever.” 

“Thank you,” replied Edgar, “but I can not stay away 
from work,” and as he spoke he attempted to start down the 
stairs but his limbs gave away under him and he seized the 
bannisters to save himself from falling. Everything became 
black before his eyes — his head fell back and he knew no 
more. 

The alarmed woman carried the boy back to his bed with 
the help of some of the other tenants whom she had called in 
and then ran to get a doctor. She walked several blocks before 
she could find one. 

At last when she did catch the flash of a doctor’s sign on 
the door she hurried up the stairs and rang the bell. Here she 


INTRODUCING DR. H. D. WHITE 


was informed that the doctor was asleep and his office hours 
were from ten to eleven in the morning. 

She hurried back home in despair but when she reached 
Edgar’s room, she found a young, distinguished appearing 
physician already in attendance upon the sick boy. 

“Mother,” whispered Jimmie, “this is Dr. White. When 
I came home and found Edgar so sick, I ran out and got him. 
He had just woke up — I knew where to find him ’cause he 
always gets his papers off me. He got ready in a jiffy when 
I told him how sick Edgar was. Isn’t he a brick to come so 
early without making a fuss?” 

i 1 May the Lord bless him! ’ ’ she said fervently. 

The doctor was still bending over Edgar’s bed. 

At Mrs. Murphy’s ejaculation, Dr. White turned around 
and looked at her with such a friendly smile that her whole 
heart and soul went out to him. She felt that not only was he 
a doctor, but also a friend to the poor. He was tall and hand¬ 
some and not over twenty-seven or eight years old. 

When Dr. Henry White walked up three flights of stairs 
to look at the patient, he expected to see a boy of the ordinary 
type one is likely to meet in such a neighborhood. 

But he uttered a cry of surprise as he gazed at the face of 
the unconscious boy — beautiful, though white and rigid. His 
mind ran back over the past and he beheld again the face of 
the little golden-haired blue-eyed playmate of his boyhood 
days. The resemblance was remarkable. 

Aftr a brief but careful examination, he forced a few 
drops of medicine between the closed lips and sat down by the 
bed with his fingers upon the boy’s wrist. He asked the lad’s 
name. 

“Edgar Randolph,” replied the woman. 

“His birthplace?” 

“Westwood.” 

‘ ‘ Did you say he was an orphan ? ’ ’ 

[ J 37] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Yes, sir.” 

The landlady was surprised to note the change in the 
expression of the doctor’s face as she answered his questions. 

He arose and prepared some medicine. “Give him a 
teaspoonful of that every half hour until I return. I shall be 
here again in the afternoon.” 

Tears gathered in her eyes as she exclaimed, “You are 
like an angel from heaven! God bless you for coming.” 

Struck by the affection she showed for the boy, he said, 
“You seem to love him very much, considering you are a 
stranger to him.” 

“No one could help loving him,” she answered, “he is so 
gentle and good and brave, too. I’m sure he comes of a 
wealthy family though he never says anything, but I have 
heard him mutter in his sleep about a ‘good home,’ ‘automo¬ 
biles’ and other things that only rich people can have.” 

The doctor smiled at her simplicity and went away, look¬ 
ing very thoughtful. 

“Is it possible that this noble boy belongs to the family 
I once knew in Westwood,” he thought. “Some great mis¬ 
fortune has surely come to them, that one so young should be 
compelled to earn his living. I must write to my uncle at once 
and ask him about them. Better still — if I succeed in saving 
the child’s life, I’ll take him home myself. How surprised 
uncle will be to see me! And Alice — I wonder if she would 
be pleased to see me now as in the old days. How pretty she 
looked that last day with the tears in her lovely eyes as I bade 
her goodbye. Well, I certainly had a beautiful, happy child¬ 
hood, and that boy surely does look like her.” 

Dr. Henry White was far from wealthy, though he had 
made rapid strides in his profession. His mother had been left 
a widow when quite young with only a small income for her 
support. Henry was ambitious to acquire an excellent educa¬ 
tion and his uncle, Dr. Drake, had aided them greatly, giving 

[i38] 


INTRODUCING DR. H. D. WHITE 


the boy the opportunity to choose the profession for which 
he had the greatest inclination. One day a few weeks before 
he graduated, there came a message telling him of his mother’s 
death. The shock was a terrible one to the young man, and for 
a time he was almost heartbroken. It was bitter indeed to lose 
her now just when he seemed about to realize his fond hope of 
taking her from her long struggle with poverty. 

At the completion of his studies he had an opportunity to 
go to Germany as an assistant to a specialist in surgical work. 
He remained there for one year. The interest he took in his 
work and the intelligence and ability he exhibited, together 
with his fine moral character, won him great respect among 
the medical fraternity while he was there and upon his return 
to his native land. 

When he had bidden the little golden-haired Alice good¬ 
bye and had started out to study his beloved profession he 
was a mere boy. The warm attachment he felt for the child 
whose innocent eyes paid homage to him as her hero, had 
grown and strengthened into love with the pasing years and he 
meant some day to go back and claim her for his wife, and felt 
secure in the knowledge that she was too young to marry in 
the meantime. 

When his mother died he had been tempted to spend his 
vacation with his uncle, but he had made a resolve not to 
return until he was in a position to repay his uncle the amount 
which he had expended upon his education and so he had 
withstood the yearning to see Alice and had remained at his 

post. 

About a year had elapsed since his return from Germany 
and with nothing to rely upon but his skill and industry, he 
had forged ahead, his practice increasing rapidly and his 
name mentioned with honor in medical journals. He was in 

[ 139 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


comfortable circumstances, but had not attained to the finan¬ 
cial standing he had set his heart on securing before present¬ 
ing himself to his uncle and Alice. 

Never had he longed for a fortune more than on the day 
that he first saw Edgar. Pleasant memories of the happy 
summers spent in Westwood surged back upon him — and 
never before had he so passionately yearned to see Alice as 
now, when her features were so vividly brought before him 
by the strong resemblance of Edgar to his sister. He had long 
since realized that she had entwined herself about his heart, 
but he believed that he had no right to ask any woman to 
bind herself to him — a poor physician — and least of all 
Alice, who was so far removed from him by her wealth. 

When Dr. White called the second time to see Edgar, the 
woman met him with her fingers pressed to her lips, ‘ 1 Sh-h- ’ ’ 
she whispered, “he came to after you left this morning but 
he’s sleeping now. ’ ’ 

The doctor approached the bed and his professional 
insight quickly revealed that this was no sleep. The woman 
became alarmed at the gravity of his face. 

‘ ‘ Isn’t he any better ? ’ ’ she asked. 

‘ ‘ He is very ill — his strength has been over-taxed. Give 
him the medicine regularly and with complete rest and nour¬ 
ishing food, he may recover — though there is but a slight 
chance. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh poor, poor child! ’ ’ cried the tender-hearted woman, 
winging her hands. “If he dies no one is to blame but that 
Mr. Sharper who worked him to death on starvation wages.” 

‘ ‘ I went to see him this afternoon and it took almost two 
hours before I was let into his sight and when I told him of 
the lad’s sickness and that he was a stranger here with no 
money and asked him if he would advance him a week’s wages 
so we could pay for a doctor he said, like this, ’ ’ and screwing 
up her good natured features into what she thought was Mr. 

[140] 


INTRODUCING DR. H. D. WHITE 

/ 

Sharper’s expression, “ ‘My dear woman, I am too busy a 
man to listen to such trivial matters. There are enough charit¬ 
able institutions where you could get the aid you want. ’ When 
I told him I did not want charity but only a week’s wages 
that the boy would pay with his work when he gets better, he 
laughed and said, ‘If I was to advance the salary of every 
clerk that happened to get sick, I would have to close up! ’ ” 

Seeing the doctor’s kindly face and interested look as she 
spoke, she further relieved her feelings. 

“People say that Mr. Sharper is a great philanthropist 
but I fail to see it when he turned me away like a beggar 
because I asked him to afford the lad a doctor’s care. What is 
the good of going to church and making long prayers for the 
fatherless and then letting a helpless orphan die without lift¬ 
ing a finger to save him.” 

Dr. White listened to her story attentively and was rather 
surprised to find a woman in her surroundings so intelligent 
and full of sound judgment. 

“You need not trouble yourself on my behalf, Mrs. 
Murphy,” he said gently, “I am only too glad to help the 
poor boy if it is my power to save him. I will send a trained 
nurse as I fear he will need a great deal of attention during 
the first few days of his illness, and I will also leave you 
some money to buy the medicine and whatever nourishment 
I may prescribe for him.” 

“May the Lord bless you for your goodness,” the woman 
cried, rejoicing because of the chance of getting the right food 
for the invalid and with no obligations of paying doctor’s 
bills. A fact which had worried her a great deal. 

The little sufferer stired and raising his head, gazed 
before him with a dazed, vacant stare, talking disconnectedly. 

“Mother,” he said in a weak voice, “do — take — me — 
home — I couldn’t stand it — any longer, that work —is so 
hard —Oh, don’t wear that ugly —black dress, Alice,—you 

[ I 4 I ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


look so pretty in white — say, Ellen, won’t — yon go — with 
me to — the woods — there are lots of — violets out now. ’ ’ And 
then in a softer voice , 1 ‘ Don’t cry, mother dear — Richard and 
I will buy back our old home — I don’t mind working hard —. 
If — I — can only earn — enough — to — help —. Oh, ’ ’ he 
sighed, as he half roused to consciousness, “I — saw — them, 

— where are — they? Was I — only — dreaming? I’m all — 
alone after all, in — a big city, and — I’m — so sick — and 

— my head — aches so much. How I — wish I — were home. ’ ’ 

“You shall be home soon,” said the doctor tenderly, and 
he gently pushed Edgar back. “But you must not rise or 
speak; you are quite sick now. You will be well soon if you 
mind me. I am a doctor and must be obeyed, you know. ’ ’ 

The doctor’s voice seemed to recall the sick boy to him¬ 
self. He gazed wildly at the speaker for a moment, but grad¬ 
ually his glance became calmer and he smiled faintly. 

‘ ‘ Are you — really — a doctor,— and — will you — make 
me — well soon ? ” he asked in a feeble voice. 

“I hope so,” said the doctor feelingly. 

Edgar smiled thankfully and, with a sigh of relief, closed 
his eyes and lapsed into delirium again. 

Despite the doctor’s skill and the faithful attendance of 
the nurse and the landlady’s efforts, Edgar steadily grew 
worse. His big blue eyes were open but fixed on vacancy, the 
head with its golden curls tossed restlessly from side to side. 
He heard nothing — saw nothing — felt nothing. The physi¬ 
cian was unremitting in his care but at every visit there 
seemed less occasion for hope. On the ninth day, however, 
favorable symptoms appeared and on the tenth day when the 
doctor made his usual call, he was surprised to find Edgar 
half sitting up in bed. At his entrance the boy’s face bright¬ 
ened wonderfully. 

“How are you today, my little hero?” asked the doctor 
cheerily. 


INTRODUCING DR. H. D. WHITE 


“Oh, I feel ever so much better, doctor, and would like 
to get to the store again soon. If I stay away too long I’m apt 
to be discharged, you know. ’ ’ 

“You must not think about it now,” replied the doctor, 

11 1 hope you will be well soon, but I fear it will be some time 
before you are strong enough to work again.” 

From that time on, however, Edgar’s recovery was rea¬ 
sonably assured, though the doctor was still anxious lest his 
depleted strength might fail to carry him through, but at the 
end of two weeks the crisis was past, and his recovery was 
rapid. The good woman nearly cried for joy when the doctor 
told her the boy was out of danger. And never did a physician 
feel greater satisfaction in healing the sick than he when the 
lad was eventually restored. Brighter hopes for the future too, 
seemed to follow in the wake of Edgar’s recovery. 

Edgar soon became very much at home with the doctor, 
and it was therefore not at all like talking to a stranger when 
one afternoon he told him all that had happened to his people 
since the death of his father. It was difficult at times for Dr. 
White to restrain his emotion as he listened to the sad story 
and heard the details of Alice’s brave bearing and sacrifices 
in Richard’s behalf. When he in turn told Edgar that he was 
Dr. Drake’s nephew and that Richard and Alice had been the 
playmates of his childhood, the boy’s joy was unbounded. 
The knowledge that there was at hand a friend, not only of 
himself, but of his family, was the greatest solace and com¬ 
fort to the boy alone in a strange city. 


[ I 43] 


CHAPTER XIX 


A Trip to Philadelphia 

“SOMETHING serious must have happened to Edgar, 
Mother,” said Alice one day. ‘‘It has been so long 
since we have heard from him. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Randolph had been anxious about Edgar for more 
than a fortnight, for it was three weeks since they had 
received a letter from him and it had been his custom to 
write every week. She had written twice within this inter¬ 
val but had received no reply. When Edgar had written, 
the letter did not satisfy her for he studiously avoided any 
mention of his prospects, and her questions on these points 
remained unanswered. There were no complaints but a 
certain melancholy strain ran through every line, which per¬ 
haps only a mother could have detected. She could, there¬ 
fore, afford no real consolation or assurance to Alice, though 
she expressed a hope which she did not feel herself. 

“Perhaps he has no time to write but if we do not get a 
letter today, I shall certainly go to Philadelphia and see 
what is the matter,” she said, vainly striving to hide her 
anxiety from Alice. 

“But Mother, where shall we get the money for the 
journey? It will be three days before I receive my salary.” 

Mrs. Randolph realized her helplessness. Only one who 
has passed through the same experience can understand the 
agony of the mother’s heart. She knew instinctively that 
her child was in trouble, and yet, through lack of means, she 
was powerless to go to him. 


044] 


A TRIP TO PHILADELPHIA 


Ellen had listened to this conversation and running 
out unobserved, soon returned with a little old purse which 
she held out, “Here Mother,” she cried with sparkling eyes, 
“perhaps it will be enough to take you to Edgar. Oh, if he 
should be sick, you ought to be near and nurse him.” 

They looked at her in surprise, “Ellen dear, where did 
you get this?” asked Mrs. Randolph searching the child’s 
face. 

The little girl blushingly made a full confession about 
running errands, and presently was led to tell that it was 
through small amounts earned doing errands that she had 
saved up enough to buy the Christmas turkey. Their hearts 
were filled with gratitude and love for the unselfish action 
of the child and they tenderly kissed her happy, glowing 
face. 

“Oh, Ellen,” cried Alice, kissing her little sister again 
and again. “I never could have believed that you were 
capable of such thoughtfulness.” 

But Mrs. Randolph after praising Ellen for her bravery 
and unselfish conduct and delicate consideration in aiding 
them secretly, gently forbade her to do this again. 

The next day there was no letter from Edgar and the 
anxious mother at once took the train for Philadelphia. 
Owing to her apprehension and worry, the trip seemed un¬ 
duly long, but at last she reached her destination. 

When Mrs. Randolph reached the house in which Edgar 
lived in the great city, she recoiled as he had done from the 
repulsive entrance. “Oh, God, is it possible that my child 
lives here,” she thought. She wearily climbed the stairs and 
knocked at the door on the first floor. Upon asking if Edgar 
Randolph lived there, she was directed to the third floor. 

The same picture that had presented itself to Edgar 
met her gaze as the door was opened by the washwoman. 

[ I 45] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Good Mrs. Murphy was extravagant in her joy when she 
learned who her visitor was. 

When mother and son met there w r as a pathetic scene 
of mingled joy and sorrow too sacred for words. 

In her letters to Alice, Mrs. Randolph did not dwell on 
Edgar’s sufferings as she had learned them from the doctor 
and the landlady, nor did she tell her it was overwork and 
want of proper food and lodging that had laid him on a sick 
bed. She did speak at length, however, of the kindness of 
the doctor who had attended the boy through his illness 
and of the loving care of the good woman who had nursed 
him. 

‘‘We are greatly indebted to Dr. White whose skill and 
energy have saved our dear Edgar’s life,” she wrote. “From 
what I have gathered in a few conversations with the kind 
woman of the house, I find that Edgar has been seriously 
sick and that they even despaired of his life. It is wonderful 
that utter strangers should have done so much for our sick 
darling, while his employers for whom he worked faithfully, 
refused even to send medical aid to him. Ah, Alice, thank 
God there are good men and women in the world. It makes 
me shudder to contemplate the consequence, had not these 
two kind people taken such an interest in the dear boy.” 

In her next letter she wrote, “I had a long talk with the 
doctor today. He says that Edgar has improved wonderfully 
since my arrival and will soon be able to go home with me. 
He spoke of you often, dear, and almost made me believe that 
he must know you. He probably noticed my perplexed look 
for he said, ‘Edgar has told me so much about all of you and 
especially of his beautiful sister, that I almost feel that I 
know the family.’ He blushed like a girl when Edgar told me 
that he had asked permission to keep your picture which the 
dear child had with him, in token of their friendship. He 
asked me if I thought you would object and I told him ‘no,’ 

[ 146 ] 


A TRIP TO PHILADELPHIA 


for Alice, he surely has won the right to he treated as a dear 
friend after all he has done for Edgar. Furthermore, I invited 
him to visit us and meet you personally .’ 9 

“Dear little Edgar!’’ exclaimed Alice to herself as she 
read the letter, “both he and mother attribute impossible per¬ 
fections to me and I know they exaggerate shamefully when 
talking on their pet topic—” and then with a glance in the 
mirror at her flushed face, she laughingly added, “were this 
strange doctor to see me now with this rumpled head and red 
face I fear his impressions would utterly vanish.” 

Had she but known of the stolen glances and silent com¬ 
munications which her picture had evoked from the doctor, her 
blushes would have increased ten-fold. 

Edgar’s improvement under his mother’s care was so 
marked that Dr. White was glad he was to go home under her 
care rather than his own. And furthermore, he wished to be in 
such an assured position when he saw Alice as would warrant 
him in asking her to become his wife, for he was uneasy now 
lest she should learn to love another. 

In a few days, Edgar and his mother returned home, 
where a most cordial welcome awaited them from Alice and 
Ellen. When the first warm greetings were over, Alice turned 
to her mother with an eager question on her lips. 

“Who is this kind Dr. White, mother? Edgar, you must 
know something about him — who is he ? ” 

“I don’t know,” replied Edgar without looking up, fear¬ 
ing to meet his sister’s eyes, “all I know is that he is a good 
doctor and a kind friend, ’ ’ he added. 

As Dr. White did not wish to be known in Westwood until 
he should go there himself someday, Edgar had promised not 
to betray his confidence. 


[147] 


CHAPTER XX 


A Fortune Won 

O NE bright Sunday morning several weeks after the re¬ 
turn of Edgar to Westwood, a tall handsome young man 
walked briskly along the road from the depot, turned 
aside and entered the path leading to Dr. Drake’s house. A 
quick pull at the bell brought the old physician to the door. 
There was a moment’s doubtful scrutiny of the stranger and 
then he eagerly seized both of the young man’s outstretched 
hands, wringing them heartily and almost dragging him inside. 
“Well, uncle, it is good to see you again!” 

“So, so,” cried the delighted old man, pushing him into 
an easy chair, and fussing over him with pathetic tenderness 
as if to test his reality; i ‘ you’ve come back to your old uncle 
after all, and what a strapping fellow you are! Didn’t wait 
for the fortune, hey — or have you got it tucked up your 
sleeve?” he asked with a chuckle. 

“I have the fortune, uncle, but it is not all just where 
you would suppose it is,” replied the young man, laughing. 

“You have,” cried his uncle in surprise, drawing his 
chair nearer. “A fortune! So soon! Explain the mystery, 
and perhaps I may find a chance to test your plan for my 
own benefit.” 

“You possess the secret as well as I, uncle, although the 
opportunity to use it with such results may not have been 
given you. You have saved many a life; so have I a few, but 
only one of those saved brought me a reward.” 

“I have saved life, Henry, indeed. Only last week a 

[t 4 8] 


A FORTUNE WON 


poor mother came to me praying for me to save her little hoy. 
Other doctors had given him up, but the mother would not 
abandon hope. I went with her and found the child suffering, 
as she had said, with acute pneumonia. His case was well 
nigh hopeless, but we saved his life nevertheless.” 

‘ ‘ And your reward, uncle ? ’ ’ 

Oh, a mere pittance. The unfortunate woman had little 
to spare, for this winter has been hard upon the poor and in 
my practice amongst them this year, blessings have had to 
take the place of dollars mostly, and they’re often a pretty 
good substitute, although the dollars do come in handy too, ’ ’ 
he added quizzically. 

“Ah, I know your big heart,” replied Henry, “but let me 
tell you of my good fortune. The twelve year old daughter 
of one of Philadelphia’s millionaires had been very sickly 
from infancy, and under the almost constant care of eminent 
physicians. Within recent years the malady had made such 
progress that the child was gradually wasting away and was 
finally pronounced incurable; she was apparently dying slowly 
and painfully. Specialists were summoned, but no hope was 
given. A washerwoman, with whom I had some acquaintance 
was employed at this time as laundress for the family, and 
through one of the maids she recommended me to the parents 
of the child. They were in despair and I was sent for. I care¬ 
fully studied the case, and finally came to the conclusion that 
a very delicate operation might save the little girl. I gained 
the consent of the mother and father and performed the oper¬ 
ation successfully. In a couple of weeks my little patient was 
able to sit up, but the parents would not hear of my leaving 
the house until she was walking about, and now she is rapidly 
growing strong and healthy. The grateful father sent me a 
cheque for twenty-five thousand dollars and so here I am!” 

“Dr. H. D. White,” cried the old doctor, “the famous 
surgeon and physician whose name I have read over and over 

[i49] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


again in the journals, and whose skill and honors I envied 
when I read of this very case! Why, my boy, I never asso¬ 
ciated you with this famous person.” He rose as he spoke and 
grasped the young man’s hand and wrung it again as he said 
solemnly, “It is time for me to step aside — I doff my hat to 
you, sir, as an honor to your sainted mother and to your 
country. And best of all, you didn’t forget your old uncle, 
either, God bless you! ’ ’ 

“Believe me, uncle, I value what you have just said far 
more than my little fortune, ’ ’ and then he added more cheer¬ 
fully, “but it isn’t all mine. You made my present success a 
possibility, and I have come to keep my vow first,” and as he 
spoke he tried to force a cheque into the old man’s hands. 

“My boy,—” began Dr. Drake protestingly. 

“Dr. White, if you please,” said Henry roguishly, “and 
entitled to respect; you must let me pay my bills and go on to 
other matters.” 

“You always bossed me when you were a little, capricious, 
petted fellow, ’ ’ said the good doctor, good humor sparkling in 
his smiling eyes, “but I’ll be hanged if I will let you have 
your own way this time.” As he spoke, he gently pushed aside 
the hand that held the cheque. “No, Henry, I wish for no 
reward — what I have done was a part of my duty in looking 
after your welfare. Don’t make me speak about it again, al¬ 
though I appreciate your generosity. I would rather you 
would tell me what your plans are for the future.” 

“I mean to settle in Westwood, uncle; you must take your 
well-earned rest. You have labored long and faithfully, let 
me carry on your work here under your eyes.” 

“What about your Philadelphia practice?” 

“I shall still have an office there and be there by special 
appointment, when necessary.” 

“WRy,” cried the old man with sparkling eyes, “you are 
the doctor who saved Edgar Randolph’s life! I can see it all 


A FORTUNE WON 


now — your work here is already begun — you do not know 
the depths of gratitude the Randolphs feel for you. Alice 
evidently believes you something more than human. By the 
way, she does not dream any more than I did of connecting 
our Henry White with you, the famous Dr. H. D. White.” 

* ‘ Tell me about her — them I should say, ’ ’ said the young 
man, flushing at his uncle’s sudden glance. 

“Just so!” exclaimed the older man meaningly, thinking 
to himself, ‘he flushes now just the same way he used to in the 
past when I’d tease him about his little playmate.’ Then he 
said, “Not a word will I tell you, young scamp. Go to see her 
— them — I should say, and let her — them — tell you, ’ ’ and 
he chuckled gleefully. 

Henry laughed outright and said, “frankly, uncle, I do 
love Alice very dearly.” 

“She is worthy of it, my boy. You could not find a 
nobler girl if you hunted the world over. ’ ’ 

“I know it, dear uncle. She was an angelic child and I 
picture her as a saintly woman.” Then suddenly, he asked, 
“Have I changed much?” 

“Have you changed much? Well I should say so! My 
boy, I’d never have known you were it not for your striking 
resemblance to your father. You look for all the world like 
him. ’ ’ 

“Do you think Alice would recognize me if she saw me 
just as I am?” 

“A-ha, I see what you are driving at, you mischief! but 
never fear, she would never know you unless you chose to 
divulge your identity. I know now why you are raising a 
beard — I was just going to ask you if there were barber 
shops or safety razors in Philadelphia.” 

Henry laughed. “There are plenty, uncle, but I want 
Alice to fall in love with me over again. It would be more 
interesting. ’ ’ 

[>5i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“You twentieth century lovers make me sick! Why don’t 
you do the same as I did, Henry ? When 1 wanted to marry my 
girl, I dressed in my Sunday suit — went to see her and 
popped the question without making a fuss. I know Alice will 
not refuse you — she has a soft spot in her heart for you 
already. ’ ’ 

“Do you think so, uncle,” asked Henry anxiously. 

“ Do I think so ? I should say I do! Hasn’t she pestered 
me to death with all sorts of questions about you ever since 
you went away ? Take my advice, Henry — go ahead and pop 
the question right now. What is the use of beating around the 
bush ? ’ ’ 

“That is precisely what I do not want to do just yet. I 
want to make her acquaintance as a stranger and find out 
exactly how she feels toward her one-time friend, Henry 
White.” 

“Oh, I see your scheme. You want to appear as the hero 
who saved her brother. Well, I see no good reason why you 
should not have your way about it. I rather like the idea and 
I don’t mind participating in the fun myself. Just promise 
me a position behind the parlor curtain where I can see and 
hear the proposal and the accompanying confession of in¬ 
cognito. That would be worth while. ’ ’ 

“If I can hide my identity at the first meeting, I feel as¬ 
sured I can contrive to play my part safely through the 
drama,” Henry said laughingly. 

“No doubt you will, Henry,” the old physician assured 
him. “From time immemorial boys and girls have always 
managed their artful little schemes to ensnare one another 
pretty successfully.” 

“I suppose it would be quite safe to venture a visit to 
them this afternoon?” queried the young man. Again he 
blushed boy-fashion, as he met his uncle’s meaning scrutiny, 

“Do you want me to give you a description of yourself 

l 1 52] 


A FORTUNE WON 


as a boy — and now as a grown man to convince you of the big 
difference ? ’ ’ and without waiting for a reply, he began: 

‘ ‘ Let me see — if I remember correctly, you were a light¬ 
haired youngster, almost red-headed, but the fashionable world 
today would call it auburn, I suppose. It was curly and always 
hung in confusion about your temples, which, by the way, 
annoyed you a great deal because the girls admired it so much, 
and they also liked your rosy cheeks, too:— for you had a 
beautiful fair complexion. I always said to Laura that your 
face was almost too fair for a boy. But now let me give 
another look at you, young man.” 

As he spoke he turned his nephew’s head slightly to the 
side, scrutinizing him searchingly. Henry laughed at his 
uncle’s frank, outspoken criticism. 

“Indeed, Henry, there is a truly wonderful change in 
you,” Dr. Drake said more seriously. “From the handsome 
lad you have grown into a stately young man, rather good 
looking, be it confessed. Your hair is much darker than it used 
to be and I like the way your beard and mustache are 
trimmed. I have always liked to see a man wear a beard 
despite the prevailing fashion. I think it is a man’s birth¬ 
right and insignia. A smooth-faced man always puts me in 
mind of a hard-boiled egg without a shell.” 

The entrance of Mrs. Drake put an end to the confidential 
chat and immediately gave place to the warm, hearty greetings 
that followed. The good lady’s welcome was not a bit less 
effusive than her husband’s. She too, cherished the young man 
in her big motherly heart. 

At the dinner table the Randolphs were again the subject 
of conversation. Reverting again to the kind chance that had 
brought him to Edgar’s bedside, Mrs. Drake said to Henry, 
“Who was the washerwoman who played such an important 
role in those fateful occurrences?” 

“She was Edgar’s landlady. She does not have to wash 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


for a living now, nor her boy peddle with papers. He is at¬ 
tending school and his mother is keeping house for me until I 
can find a wife,” he said smilingly, giving his uncle a side 
glance. “So you see she may have a life job with me, though 
I hope not. 

“So you’re looking for a wife,” said the old man inno¬ 
cently. “Just like them all; no sooner does a fellow get a few 
thousand dollars than he wants a wife to help him spend it. 
Well, Henry, I don’t think you will die a bachelor.” 

“Thank you, uncle,” replied the young man, “you give 
me hope.” 


t 


[>S4] 


CHAPTER XXI 


Love's Awakening 

W HEN Alice Randolph returned from an afternoon 
walk, she was met by Ellen who had been impatiently 
watching for her. 

“Oh Alice!” cried the child excitedly, ‘there is such a 
grand young man in the parlor talking to Mother.” 

Alice quickened her pace and soon entered the room. 
The sharp cold air had given an unusual color to her cheeks 
and the excitement produced by Ellen’s words, had added 
brilliancy to her lovely eyes. She was thinner than in the 
days of her earlier beauty but her figure was still exquisitely 
graceful. The responsibility and stress of the cruel winter 
had tried her to the utmost — taxed all the strength of her 
noble character—and the girlish form had been transformed 
into one ideally beautiful and womanly — made so by the 
spirit that had cleft its way and followed rugged paths to 
great moral heights. 

Dr. White rose quickly as she made her appearance. 
“Doctor,” said Mrs. Randolph proudly, “this is my 
daughter. My dear, Doctor White has at last come to see 
us.” 

Alice’s eyes fell before the look of almost passionate 
admiration with which the handsome, bearded young man 
regarded her. But, quickly recovering her composure and 
advancing, she placed her hand frankly in his and murmured 
a few words of warm welcome. Not for an instant did she 
associate this distinguished looking gentleman with the 

[*55] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


smooth- faced boy to whom she had bidden goodbye so many 
years previously. 

The young man lingered in the cosey sitting room until 
it began to grow dusk and then reluctantly rode home 
absorbed in thought. 

“She did not recognize me,” he mused, “no doubt 
Time has wrought as great a change in me as it has in her. 
But how beautiful she is and how good she looks! Edgar 
did not exaggerate her charm nor hardly do it justice.” 

The young doctor had taken his aunt into his confidence 
and had begged her not to reveal his identity as yet — it was 
his desire to induce Alice to love him with a woman’s love 
before revealing himself as her boy-lover. Mrs. Drake had 
agreed to say or do nothing that would disturb his plans. 

One evening Alice was a little later than usual in re¬ 
turning home from school. This was a day or two after 
Dr. White’s visit. Noticing a large touring car standing in 
front of the cottage, she quickened her pace. Just as she 
reached the gate Dr. White came out. As he caught sight of 
her a look of pleased surprise illuminated his face. He 
greeted her cordially and lingered at the gate as if loath to 
take his leave. 

“My child,” said Mrs. Randolph as Alice came in, “I 
regret that you did not return sooner. Dr. White has been 
here and wanted to see Edgar. I told him how fond the boy 
is of skating and that we find it almost impossible to keep 
him indoors. He seemed very glad to learn that Edgar has 
recovered so fully and advised me to let him stay out of 
doors as much as possible.” 

“I am sorry I was not home, Mother, but I saw Dr. 
White just as he was leaving. He will probably call again.” 

“He said he would be driving by this way very often 
and asked permission to drop in, which I most cordially 
gave,” said Mrs. Randolph. 


LOVE’S AWAKENING 


“Did he say why he came to Westwood, Mother?” 

“He is visiting a relative whom he has not seen for 
years,” replied her mother. 

Alice thought long that night of the young doctor. Her 
tender heart was full of gratitude to him for his goodness to 
Edgar and she was conscious of a feeling that amounted 
almost to reverence for his achievements in the interests of 
science and suffering humanity. Little time was there for 
thoughts of love or lovers in her sad and busy life but that 
night she recalled the young man’s ardent glance and heard 
again his softened tones as he spoke to her at the gate and 
in the darkness she pressed her face close to her pillow as 
though to hide the warm blushes that surged to her brow 

The next afternoon as she was leaving school, Dr. White 
overtook her, he sprang from his car and was by her side 
in an instant. “What a fine car, you have,” said Alice to 
cover her confusion at his unexpected appearance and she 
turned to look at it. 

“Yes it is a beauty and one of the latest models,” he 
replied. For a moment there was silence — then he broke it, 
“Do you drive a car?” he asked eagerly. 

“I used to,” she replied simply, with a smile that had in 
it a touch of sadness as she thought of the fine automobiles 
they had been forced to sell. 

He paused for a moment and then said, “You would 
do me great honor and give me much pleasure if you would 
use this car, Miss Randolph. We might also enjoy some 
very delightful rides in this vicinity.” 

The prospect of an exhilarating ride through the wood¬ 
lands made her heart thrill with a happiness she had not 
known for many months but she replied quietly, “Oh, I 
thank you but I fear it would be too much trouble.” 

“Indeed not. You could give me no greater pleasure 
while I remain in Westwood — and besides,” he continued, 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


his voice assuming a tender, solicitous tone as he looked 
down earnestly at her, ’ ’ I trust you will not deem me guilty 
of undue liberty when I say that you are pale from too close 
confinement and that a breezy drive would be beneficial to 
you. ’ ’ 

“Doctors enjoy by right of their profession, special 
liberty in the expression of their opinion on such matters, I 
believe,” said Alice laughing. “I will, be very grateful, 
however, if you care to take the trouble.” Then she added, 
“but you know it is only on Saturdays and Sundays that I 
am able to go.” 

Dr. White drove Alice home and gladly accepted Mrs. 
Randolph’s invitation to remain to tea. 

When on Saturday Alice took her seat beside Dr. White 
in the fine touring car, she seemed to leave all cares and trials 
behind her as they sped along. Before they had gone many 
miles she was laughing as she had not done since her father’s 
death. Under the excitement of the ride, the bracing air and 
the young man’s infectious high spirits, her sorrows grew very 
distant and her eyes sparkled. Her whole face soon brightened 
and the roses Dr. White had longed to see came back to her 
cheeks in their old-time brilliancy. 

For three happy weeks not only did the fine car appear 
at the cottage on Saturdays and Sundays but every afternoon 
it stopped in front of the school building and at half-past 
three when the children filed out they would see the ‘beauty- 
auto’ as they called it, with its handsome driver waiting for 
Alice. They began to whisper among themselves that Miss 
Randolph, their pretty teacher had a ‘ steady. ’ 

Many times during those short, happy weeks, Dr. White 
almost blurted out the truth to the woman he passionately 
adored and yet he hesitated — fearing to tell it. Better to 
wait, he would say to himself over and over again, and live 
happy in doubt than to risk all the joy and hope on a single 

[i58] 



LOVE’S AWAKENING 


throw, for in his heart there still lingered the dread of failure. 

But every day as they sat side by side, the close contact 
with her added fire to his suppressed love and he felt that he 
could not keep the secret to himself much longer. When he 
finally decided he must tell Alice of his love and had gathered 
his courage to speak to her, he was summoned to Philadelphia. 

He had no time to see her but wrote a hasty note of ex¬ 
planation and committed it to a boy to deliver to Alice. The 
boy lost the missive and as the bearer of it had received his 
pay in advance, he deemed it unnecessary to report his loss 
and failure to deliver the note to the person it concerned. 

When Dr. White failed to appear at the designated time, 
Alice was sadly disappointed, but with her usual good sense 
she concluded that some unavoidable event had kept him away 
and felt sure within the next few days he would call and ex¬ 
plain. But the week passed and also following weeks and still 
she received no word from him — she finally came to the con¬ 
clusion that he must have left Westwood and the sudden pain 
that pierced her heart at the thought made plain to her the 
state of her feelings. She realized that she loved the young 
man with all the intensity of her strong nature and she clearly 
saw that she could not help this — his care of her brother was 
the very foundation of her love for him and added to this was 
his winning personality, and Alice would not have been human 
if she had not felt for him the great love of which she was 
conscious. 

Mrs. Randolph had anxiously noted the increasing pallor 
of her daughter’s face and attributed it to the right cause. 
One morning she broached the subject, 4 4 Alice, why has Dr. 
White so suddenly ceased calling ? Have you offended him in 
any way, my dear ? ’ ’ 

“Indeed no, mother. I think he must have left West- 
wood.” 

“Then he should have sent some word of apology or 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


explanation,” protested Mrs. Randolph. “It is strange 
neglect on his part to have done so and yet I can not believe 
he would willingly be rude or commit a dishonorable action. 
There must be a mistake somewhere.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


Revenge 

D R. WHITE had been summoned to appear as a witness 
in a law suit in Philadelphia. A man had been injured 
in a railroad accident and Dr. White had attended him. 
The summons was because of his professional connection with 
the case and he was, of course, obliged to remain until the 
matter was settled. On the first day as he left the court room, 
he almost ran into a man who was standing at the foot of the 
stairs. 

“Hello, Henry,” said the man. 

“Why, Locke, you’re a stranger! What are you doing 
here ? ” 

“I am also a witness in this case against the railroad 
company — was in the same car with the fellow who was hurt. 
Where have you been hiding lately? I have been in your office 
twice since I came to Philadelphia and have been told you were 
out of town.” 

“I have been in Westwood visiting my uncle.” 

‘ ‘ How is the old fellow ? I shall never forget the touch of 
his cane the day he caught me pulling the cat by the tail — 
you know teasing animals was once my greatest delight. ’ 9 

‘ ‘ I trust your tastes are less ferocious now, ’ ’ said Henry 
laughing lightly. 

“I gave up teasing animals some time ago — there’s more 
pleasure in teasing women,” answered the other carelessly. 

Henry made no reply to this questionable assertion and 
Locke continued, “But, tell me, Henry, since you have been 
to Westwood, did you meet my old flame?” 

r 161 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Whom do you mean?” asked Henry. 

‘ 1 Why Alice Randolph, of course; didn’t you know ? ’ ’ 

Henry’s face flushed at the careless mention of the name 
so dear to him but he said quietly, “I met Miss Randolph 
often. ’’ 

“Indeed! How is she looking? I suppose since she’s be¬ 
come a school ma’am she’s as roundshouldered as the rest of 
them. By Jove! to think I once imagined myself to be in love 
with her! ’ ’ 

“Your love then has ceased for good and sufficient reasons, 
I take it,” said Henry scornfully, for the irritating speech of 
the young man annoyed him. 

‘ ‘ Oh, ’ ’ replied Locke insolently , 11 don’t you know there is 
little fun nowadays in marrying without money ? ’ ’ 

“You are a contemptible cur,” cried Dr. White with 
flashing eyes. “The young lady’s misfortune should have 
made her sacred to you. The noble sacrifice she made for her 
family should have won your respect and honest love — if 
you are at all capable of such sentiments.” 

“Upon my word you are an awful prig, don’t you know.” 

“Good day,” said Henry coldly, “I have a pressing 
engagement. ’ ’ 

“Well, you’re in a devil of a rush,— will you answer me 
an important question?” and seeing Henry hesitate, he con¬ 
tinued quickly, ‘ ‘ Do you think Miss Randolph will sue me for 
breach of promise, using my letters as evidence against me? 
You know we were almost engaged once.” 

His sarcasm had its desired effect. He was fully satisfied 
when he noticed the sudden pallor that swept over Henry’s 
face in spite of his strong effort to conceal his agitation. 

“I hardly think you need worry,” replied Dr. WTiite, 
‘ ‘ Miss Randolph doubtless feels a deep gratitude at her deliver¬ 
ance— that is, if she ever gives the matter a thought,” and 
he turned on his heel and walked away. 



REVENGE 


The cruel words had left a sting in his heart, however. 

‘ ‘ Can she have loved that brute ? ” he asked himself the ques¬ 
tion again and again—“and yet, why not?” He is rich — 
handsome — and much sought after and Alice may have been 
dazzled by his smooth tongue and attractive looks. If this is 
so, she still grieves for his desertion and there is little hope 
for me,” and he went his way with a heavy heart. 

How was he to know that Alice detested the memory of 
Locke — that his ardent love-letters had never been answered ? 

An angry flush suffused Harold Locke’s handsome fea¬ 
tures as he watched Henry’s retreating form, “By Jove!” he 
exclaimed, “that fellow is head over heels in love with her 
himself! I wonder if Alice cares for him ? Gee! how he blushed 
when I mentioned her name! ’ ’ 

Harold Locke was the only son of wealthy parents and — 
it may be added — a very spoiled son. He was now twenty- 
four years of age and the possessor of a very striking person¬ 
ality, though to the observant eye, his face already showed 
lines indicative of an ease-loving, unlicensed nature. 

His sudden meeting with Dr. White and the few words 
they had exchanged awoke bitter memories and touched the 
cords of hidden feelings in his heart. 

“Curse her!” he muttered savagely, as he felt his blood 
surge in his veins at the very thought of her, ‘ ‘ I believe I hate 
and worship her at the same time. I wish we had never met. ’ ’ 
Harold Locke was a thoroughly selfish, self-absorbed man, 
with little or no feelings for his fellow man or sympathy with 
their aspirations. To do him justice, however, his love for 
Alice was more sincere than he cared to admit even to him¬ 
self. He had not counted on the possibility of a worth-while 
rival, especially now that she was penniless — and the knowl- 
edge'that one actually did exist —and probably a successful 
one, too,— aroused all his evil passions and awoke within his 
heart a fury of jealous hate. 

[163] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Accustomed to always have his every whim humored, he 
had never entertained the notion of defeat. This longing and 
craving for something he could not possess at will was a new 
sensation to him. From his experience with the fair sex, Harold 
had become convinced that every woman could be had for the 
buying — requiring high prices at times — to be sure — but 
on the whole — possible of purchase. 

He was rich — immensely rich — he argued to himself — 
that in itself was sufficient reason why Alice Randolph should 
have favored his suit. But her utter shrinking from him as 
from something loathsome — the repulses he constantly ex¬ 
perienced at her hands, had taught him a new lesson and it 
pierced even the thick hide of his self-conceit. Nevertheless, 
this experience had not prevented him from fighting a desper¬ 
ate battle for the object of his desire. Instead of devoting 
himself to travel and his customary pleasure-seeking pursuits, 
he had lingered the entire four months of his last vacation 
in Westwood, hoping desperately to win his way with Alice. 
But try as he might, he could not get a single word with her 
alone. Her cold bearing towards him had the effect of in¬ 
flaming his passion to an extraordinary degree and his evil 
heart burned with an uncontrollable fever of mingled fascina¬ 
tion and hate. Her exquisite, childlike beauty had taken such 
hold on his imagination that it seared his very soul. He could 
scarcely eat or sleep and was possessed of the grim determina¬ 
tion to devise some means whereby he could break through the 
strong wall that separated him from her. 

At last the end of the vacation had approached and all 
his determined efforts to obtain a few words with her alone 
had completely failed to his unspeakable chagrin. When he 
wrote to her, his letters were never acknowledged. 

The result was that Harold Locke left Westwood fully 
resolved to revenge his humiliation upon this girl who had so 
persistently spurned his love. 

[164] 


REVENGE 


On his arrival in Philadelphia he had heard for the first 
time that Alice was compelled to teach school to support the 
family. Such grievous news would have aroused sincere sym¬ 
pathy and strengthened the love of a noble-hearted man but 
in Harold’s heart there was no room for such ennobling 
sentiments. 

On the contrary, he derived much satisfaction from the 
knowledge of their altered fortunes. This proud girl, who had 
rejected his advances was now reduced to poverty and this 
knowledge more or less cured him of his passion for her, for 
though he loved her in his own selfish way, he loved money 
and position, too, as a necessary background. He knew fur¬ 
thermore that his father would never consent to his marriage 
with a poor girl and since it appeared hopeless to expect to 
ever win Alice’s affection, he concluded it was scarcely worth 
while to continue his game and anger his father needlessly. 

But although Harold Locke had allowed his love to run 
cold, the desire for revenge still lingered in his heart and it 
seemed to him that chance had given him the opportunity to 
satisfy that brutal craving when he met Henry White that 
afternoon on the courthouse steps. Locke could not have used 
a more cruel weapon than the statement of his pretended 
betrothal to Alice. His few words had fallen upon Henry’s 
heart like the keen stroke of a knife. The manly heart bled in 
the silent agony those insinuations had caused. 

Harold Locke’s revenge had a still deeper effect upon 
Alice Randolph. For a short time an unutterable, all-pervad¬ 
ing joy had taken possession of her tender girl-heart. For a 
brief space she felt herself a child again, care-free, exuberant 
in the birth of a perfect love. Since the day of her first meet¬ 
ing with Dr. White a mysterious change almost unknown to 
herself had come upon her. Life held something that seemed 
to bring with it a heavenly peace and content and dissipated 
the clouds that had enshrouded her during those cruel months 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


that followed the death of her father. These now seemed but 
a dim memory in the light of her effulgent happiness. 

Every hour she had spent with Dr. White seemed teem¬ 
ing with a joy too sacred for words. But scarcely had she 
tasted the cup of perfect bliss when it was mercilessly snatched 
from her lips. The ineffable dream of love and hope vanished 
— as did her trust in the faithfulness and loyalty of men. 
Alice’s heart was crushed by the well-aimed shaft which 
Harold Locke had directed so skillfully. 

And it can not be said that Harold Locke, himself, was 
happier for the fatality of his chance blow. He was conscious 
at times of a void, an emptiness in his heart for the love of a 
noble girl that would never be his. His evil desire for revenge 
was partially satisfied, but it had not brought the satisfaction 
and happiness which he had fancied it would. 

The self-same w T ell-aimed shaft was far reaching as it 
gave Henry White many restless days and sleepless nights 
trying to reason out the situation. Whenever Alice had been 
in his company she apparently was happy yet her gentle 
refined behavior towards himself, gave no sign of any deeper 
feelings than that of a heartfelt friendship. 

He thought of writing to his uncle, Dr. Drake, asking if 
there had been such a thing as an engagement between Alice 
and Harold, but gave up the idea feeling that it would not be 
gentlemanly for him to pry into her personal affairs. To 
write to her personally would also not be advisable for in 
case she still loved Locke, he did not want to cause her un¬ 
necessary pain in reminding her of the sting. Her sensitive 
nature and womanly pride must have suffered from the humil¬ 
iating feeling that she had been jilted by the man she had 
trusted. 

For the same reason he could not go back to Westwood 
to see her and ask for an explanation. He felt he had no right 
to approach that question because of the few times he had met 

[166] 


REVENGE 


her. There had never been an opportunity to speak to her of 
his love — nor had he wished to do so until he was convinced 
that the love she had felt for him as a child had now become 
the love of a woman for him. 

But when at last he could not stand the suspense any 
longer and was about to pour out his feelings for Alice he 
had to leave Westwood in a hurry. 

“Oh, if I only had spoken to her before,” he would say 
to himself over and over again. “Even if her answer w r ould 
have been a blow to my hopes it would have been better to 
know the truth than to be in such a maddening doubt, and 
now there is nothing I can do but to wait until time shall 
have healed the wound Harold Locke has inflicted upon her.” 

In answer to a scolding letter from his uncle asking why 
he had not returned to Westwood as he had promised to, he 
replied that a pressing medical appointment was the cause 
and he would be obliged to remain away indefinitely. 

In his letter he asked to be remembered to the Randolphs 
and finished without giving any sign of the heartache and 
suspense he was suffering. 

Thus not knowing the true facts regarding the acquaint¬ 
ance of Alice Randolph and Harold Locke, Dr. Henry White 
remained away from Westwood. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


The Courage of His Convictions 

R ICHARD RANDOLPH was seated at his desk one 
evening writing letters when his uncle entered and 
seated himself lazily. 

“Richard!” 

The young man had just finished his last letter and he 
turned to his uncle and said pleasantly, “Well, uncle.” 

“I wish you would tell me how to end this confounded 
coal strike. If it continues much longer I shall be a ruined 
man, for nearly my whole fortune is involved in the anthracite 
coal mines.” 

“The only remedy I can propose is to give the miners 
what they ask for. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense! You don’t half believe what you say! And 
you know very well that neither I nor the others will consent 
to such madness.” 

“I fear public opinion will force you to give this ques¬ 
tion serious consideration, for the patient American public 
has had a chance to realize that many of its comforts depend 
upon the miners’ work and that their demands are within 

7 % 

reason. 

“I assure you, Richard, that whatever the opinion of the 
public may be concerning the strike, a consensus of opinion 
will place the blame on the miners for refusing to work when 
they might. They should mine the coal in the interest of 
humanity — if for no other reason. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ In the interests of humanity also the coal barons should 

[168] 


THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS 


settle the coal strike and end the grave situation,” declared 
Richard, rising. 

“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Randolph nervously, 
as the young man took his coat and hat preparatory to leaving 
the house. 

‘ ‘ I am going to a mass meeting in Liberty Hall. ’’ 

“I suppose it is about the confounded coal strike, hey?” 

“You have guessed right, uncle.” 

‘ ‘ There seems to have been mass meetings every night this 
week.” 

“Yes, the public has at last awakened to the danger 
threatening and underlying the present conditions of affairs. 
Their sympathies have been aroused and they are doing their 
utmost to aid the miners in their fight for justice.” 

“And encourage them in laziness,” interrupted his uncle. 
“I tell you, Richard, their main idea is to avoid work and • 
live on charity. I know it only too well! ’ 1 

“No, uncle, their main effort it to better their condition. 
They do not want charity but the right to a reasonable portion 
of the wealth they produce.” 

“Oh, they don’t know what they want,” said the elder 
man testily. “Give them a yard and they want a mile. Don’t 
tell me the average working man can use the right judgment 
in such matters. ’ ’ 

“Uncle, you surprise me. I had thought you were begin¬ 
ning of late to sympathize a little more with the working 
classes. ’ ’ 

“ So I do, Richard, but my sympathy lies only with those 
who wish to work and can not get work to do, and not with 
those who deliberately throw work away, and refuse to let 
others work. ’ ’ 

Richard smiled. It seemed of little use to argue the ques¬ 
tion further. “Uncle was right,” he mused to himself, “when 

[169] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


he once said it was useless to try to bend an old tree. Not¬ 
withstanding his awakened interest in humanity, his preju¬ 
dices are still too deep-seated to be lightly or easily disposed 
of.” 

As he moved to the door, Mr. Randolph exclaimed! 
“Richard, have you forgotten your promise to go with me to 
Mr. Rockland’s tonight?” 

“I have not forgotten,” Richard replied with his cus¬ 
tomary gentle manner, although his face expressed some an¬ 
noyance, “but you complained of not feeling well.” 

“Nor do I feel well enough to go, but I dislike to offend 
Mr. Rockland. He is my best friend, you know.” 

“Surely he is friend enough to pardon your absence, 
since you are not well.” 

“But Richard,” continued his uncle looking up with 
questioning eyes, ‘ 1 don’t you wish to go there yourself ? I am 
sure Miss Rockland is charming enough to attract any young 
man’s attention — yes and love too. I would welcome her as 
a wife for you.” 

This remark thoroughly angered Richard, and he replied 
in a voice that for the first time betrayed his disgust. 

“Uncle, I have distinctly told you that I love Miss 
Ellsmere; and should I ever find her I mean to make her my 
wife, when the right time comes. You have persistently sought 
me to make an alliance with a woman of fashion and wealth, 
and yet you know my utter contempt for the ordinary woman 
of this class. Few of them have hearts that know the meaning 
of unselfish love, their sole ambition is to shine in their circle 
by reason of their physical charms, whether real or artificial 
and it is often the latter. Their incessant struggle for place 
and power kills every spark of goodness and tenderness in 
their hearts, and love, self-respect, dignity, and too often, 
honor, is the willing price paid for social preferment. God 
help the honorable man who marries such a woman,— his life 

[170] 


THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS 


is a hell. I have given love, and once given it can not be 
recalled. I shall marry only where I love, and I beg of yon 
never again to suggest the possibility of my doing otherwise. ” 

Pale and stern, he awaited the outbreak from his uncle 
but the old man never stirred. His gray head was bent, and 
his hands shielded his face but as Richard looked more closely 
at him he saw a tear roll down his uncle’s cheek. In an 
instant he was beside him. 

“My dear uncle, I forgot myself. You will pardon my 
harshness, will you not?” ' 

Mr. Randolph raised his head and looked at his nephew 
with an expression of deepest melancholy. “I am made of 
hard stuff, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ and pride has always been my religion. 
It is hard for one like me to acknowledge defeat — defeat 
brought on by my own folly.” He looked intently at Richard a 
moment without speaking and then continued, “You are like 
your father,— I quarreled with him because he made me feel 
ashamed of my disrespect for true womanhood. When I found 
out he was right, it was too late. I can not be angry with you, 
my boy, marry the woman you love, and God grant you may 
soon find her.” 

This tenderness in such striking contrast to the studied 
coldness of the man in the past, touched Richard deeply. 
And as his uncle rose, Richard grasped his hand and they 
stood thus, looking into each others eyes for some time. When 
Richard finally left the room, a silent compact had been made 
and each understood and respected the other more than before. 

From that day their association took on a deeper mean¬ 
ing, and although Mr. Randolph often grew impatient with 
what he termed Richard’s “radical notions,” never again was 
there any serious disagreement between them. 

For some time after Richard had left him, the old man 
sat with bowed head, thinking deeply. At last he started to 
his feet. 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“That boy is going to speak at Liberty Hall tonight, I 
know it as well as if he had told me, and he would have done 
so did he not feel sure that I disapproved of his views. I 
would like to hear what he has to say,” exclaimed Mr. Ran¬ 
dolph in a low voice, and looking around like a guilty school 
boy, he added, “I will do it! I will go just to hear what the 
rascal has to sav.” 

«y 

Mr. Randolph reached the hall just in time to see Richard 
take his seat on the platform. The room was crowded with a 
motley assemblage of men, many of them in their working 
clothes and with grimy hands and faces. To the unaccustomed 
eye of Mr. Randolph they looked like a crowd of savages, and 
he felt uneasy and out of place. 

This uncomfortable feeling and whatever kindred emo¬ 
tions he had entertained, were quickly replaced by one of 
almost childish pride, when he looked upon Richard as he sat 
with his handsome head uplifted, gazing around the hall with 
an expression that seemed to the uncle to partake of both the 
nature of a father and a king. 

His uncle was not far wrong in thus reading Richard’s 
glance. The young man had given much time to the thoughtful 
study of this great industrial and economic question, and had 
brought to his investigation, not only keen insight and a clear 
mind, but a heart that was singularly tender toward humanity. 
He was impatient of sham and subterfuges, and went direct 
to the point without unnecessary circumlocution. His attack 
on what he deemed the guilty party was merciless, nor did he 
fail to point out the weakness of the submerged class! 
throughout his speech one was strongly impressed by his 
earnestness. Without any attempt at flowery speech, he held 
the vast audience by the strength of his remarkable person¬ 
ality, and by the conviction he inspired that here was a man 
who, if need be, would give up life itself if in that way he 
could lift the masses out of their “Slough of Despond” and 

[172] 


THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS 


avert the crisis which threatened to overwhelm the entire 
country. 

Richard was presented by the chairman of the meeting 
and stepped forward with animated face and lips apart, hut 
his words were drowned in the loud cheering. These were 
given with a will that made the building tremble. The as¬ 
sembly has called forth this tribute, owing to the fact that they 
all knew the principal speaker of the evening was the nephew 
of the richest coal mine owner, and it was an unusual occur¬ 
rence that one among the rich should condescend to speak in 
behalf of the poor. 

With a smile of acknowledgment he began his address in 
an even voice that could be easily heard in all parts of the hall. 


[173] 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Richard's Oration 

“11 TY FRIENDS, some familiarity with the affairs of 
1VI labor and capital has led me to a firm conviction 
regarding the importance of an understanding by 
every true American, of how necessary it is to uplift the 
mass of humanity to a better and more harmonious mode of 
living. 

“To recognize the equality of all mankind, regardless of 
race, creed, or what the position may be in the world, does 
not mean that one must forswear his own individual right to 
live his own life in accordance with his own taste. 

“It would only open the way to a better knowledge of 
existing evils. It would encourage more noble instincts to work 
for the welfare of the entire human race — not only in this 
country but all over the world — and America should be the 
first in the lead — in helpfulness, in broadmindedness, and in 
education. 

“The dissension of labor and capital — the gigantic 
human problem that is being faced by the entire country is 
not only a dispute between labor and capital but it is a con¬ 
tinuation of war which endangers the lives of the whole 
nation and is a disgrace to the history of mankind. 

“The present industrial trouble in which this country is 
involved is a great human tragedy and it is far from being a 
mere matter of dollars and cents. It is something that every 
intelligent person should attempt to understand — the exist¬ 
ing condition and its consequences to the entire nation. 

[> 74 ] 


RICHARD’S ORATION 


‘ ‘ The coal strike which has held our country in its grasp 
for the last few months, I consider a step in the advancement 
of civilization. Although personally I am very much opposed 
to strikes or any kind of conflict between labor and capital for 
it always creates misunderstanding, lawlessness and violence, 

I am not in sympathy with the organized laboring men who 
sometimes by means of their united power take unfair ad¬ 
vantage of their employers by making unreasonable demands 
upon them. 

“I also am not in sympathy with organized capital who 
is guilty of the same offense — nevertheless I believe that free¬ 
dom is the heritage of every American citizen and in demand¬ 
ing better conditions in the coal mining region, the miners are 
only executing their lawful right and it should meet with the 
approval of every fair-minded American who loves justice and 
peace. 

“This strike I believe is the cry for fair play — a fight 
for righteousness. It has enlightened the minds of many who 
never before gave a serious thought to existing industrial con¬ 
ditions, and it is a deplorable pity that it took so long to 
evoke a word of sympathy from the public in behalf of the 
toiling miners — but until now we have been ignorant of the 
conditions that obtain in these coal regions. 

“With the sun shining gloriously above us, we could not 
realize how dark and narrow the world is to these men who are 
compelled in many instances to work two or three hundred 
feet below the earth’s surface in the smoke of blasting powder 
and enveloped in clouds of dust. Nor did we know that every 
bit of coal that we burn to make our homes cheerful is stained 
with the life blood and tears of the toilers. 

“No one can understand (save those who have lived 
through the experience) the horror of poverty— the agonized, 
stricken feeling of helplessness that overwhelms the wives and 
children whose husbands and fathers are brought home dead 

[i75] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


or fatally injured by the accidents which frequently occur in 
these mines — or can realize the fearsome conditions of that 
still more unfortunate class who are deprived of even a 
glimpse of the dead bodies of their loved ones who are buried 
under the ruins. 

“Not until we have shivered with the cold and been 
deprived of the necessaries of life — not until the health, 
comfort and lives of hundreds of thousands of our citizens 
were endangered, did we wake from our stupor of indifference. 
Not until we heard the universal cry of human distress did 
we give thought to the terrible suffering of the poor. The time 
has come at last — if rather late — when a feeling of sympathy 
is awakened in the heart of our patient American Public for 
the miners who are constantly fighting for bread — for home 
and family and, I might add, for life itself. 

“It is the duty of the strong to help the weak and it is 
our duty to fight for independence as our fathers did. It is 
our duty to change a system which allows the few the oppor¬ 
tunity to monopolize the wealth of the nation — condemning 
the many to helpless beggary — a system which enables a few 
to fatten upon the sweat of the many whose lives are wasted 
in unnatural toiling in mines and factories and whose children 
are born and bred in dirt, ignorance and vice — which gives 
the few the right to rob, cheat and murder under cover of the 
law; which gives extravagant wealth to some, while others 
cry for bread. 

“Every human being is entitled to all the beauty and 
glory of God’s earth and yet under present conditions, some 
have not the means to live like human beings. 

“My friends, when I say that we must have a change 
in the present conditions, I do not mean that strike-violence 
or bloodshed will do it, but standing together and peacefully, 
lawfully striving for the precious birthright — life — liberty 
— justice. 


[i 76] 


RICHARD’S ORATION 


“There is no need to take up arms as our forefathers 
were obliged to do when resisting the encroachment and 
tyranny of their mother-country. They had to resort to bullets 
in their fight for freedom but they left for us a better and 
more effective weapon — the POWERFUL BALLOT. Let us 
stand together and utilize this weapon which gives us supreme 
power to abolish poverty, misery and degradation and to 
substitute for it a system that will create conditions making 
for equality and that will make of humanity’s present stupen¬ 
dous struggle for mere existence — a thing of the past. This 
change consummated, we may exclaim with added conviction 
that our country is indeed the land of the brave and a home 
for the oppressed. 

‘ ‘ Do your duty as men — be loyal to the spirit of true 
democracy which is harbored by the social system I advocate 
whose maxim is “One for All and All for One.’ Just here lies 
the kernel of the true religion that will make all men brothers. 

“The established religions of today do not satisfy the 
needs of mankind. They fail to exert the powerful influence 
towards uplifting and ennobling the ideals of man; towards 
propagating virtuous and moral living; towards restoring 
effectively influence that shall appeal to every intelligent 
mind. There should be established a religion that shall con¬ 
strain man to be absolutely truthful and honest and that shall 
inaugurate harmony and peace between men and between 
nations; a religion that shall make this world a heaven for all; 
that shall — in short — restore to all homes and families that 
apparent elusive happiness and content we all crave and have 
such difficulty in securing. 

“I appeal to you, my friends, to rouse yourselves to the 
necessity for action and endeavor to promote the welfare of 
the human race by suppressing present evils founded on 
principles of selfishness and greed and substitute for it condi¬ 
tions based on nobler and wiser principles, that will hasten 

D77] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


the world’s progress, create universal prosperity and happi¬ 
ness for which mankind has stretched forth its hands appeal¬ 
ingly, yearningly — but all in vain. 

“ Cease to slumber in ignorance of true conditions that 
permit the existence of abject poverty, vice and misery—it is 
within your power to create a new era! Will you make your¬ 
selves enemies to your country’s welfare and of the welfare 
of the human race ? Are you, can you, be content with condi¬ 
tions under which the very lives of men, women and — yes — 
even children are being sacrificed for private gain; under 
which human lives are regarded as of less value than dollars 
and cents? 

11 Conditions under which wives with great demands upon 
their strength are today made the victims of physical weak¬ 
ness that unfits them for the natural, sacred duties of mother¬ 
hood — daughters forced ofttimes to a life of shame under the 
pressure of poverty — sons made homeless vagabonds when 
industrial trouble arises? 

“It is within our power to hasten the arrival of the new 
social system that great thinkers have introduced — it is the 
only remedy for the existing industrial evils — it is the only 
natural cure that will obviate the present struggle and it is 
your bounden duty as members of the human family to estab¬ 
lish this. 

“Therefore I urge you most earnestly to search deeply 
for the principles that underlie the proposed new social sys¬ 
tem, for therein lies your means of salvation from the diffi¬ 
culties that beset you. This system is based upon mental co¬ 
operation for the promotion of general welfare. When you 
have acquired a proper understanding of what the establish¬ 
ment of such conditions mean to you, then exercise your 
POWER to bring it about through the use of the most effec¬ 
tive — most potent weapon at your command, the BALLOT. 

“Above all, my friends, do not content yourselves with 


RICHARD’S ORATION 


merely the realization of the necessity for a peaceful change, 
but act — WORK with mind, heart and soul to effect the 
necessary change. Do not waste breath and precious energy in 
denouncing the fortunate rich as though they were the ones 
responsible for all your suffering. I have little doubt, were 
you put in their place, you would be no better and possibly 
worse. It is not the fault of the rich who are in the minority, 
not the fault of our form of government in the blessed free 
America, but it is you ,— workingmen who are the majority and 
who are responsible for the suffering you and yours endure. 

“You are. under the wrong impression that unions and 
strikes will remedy the industrial trouble in the country — 
it is more often a detriment to the establishment of better 
conditions. Unity of courage and ambition is needed to elim¬ 
inate your suffering. If you fail — it will be you, yourselves, 
who are to blame for it. Your lack of courage, ambition and 
— it is safe to say — intelligence — will be the cause of failure. 

“I have now pointed out to 3 r ou the evils that exist and 
the dire necessity for better conditions and it now remains 
for me to point out what factors are essential to bring about 
the desired change in a peaceful, successful and I would add, 
LEGAL manner. 

“First — Education of the masses is necessary for their 
proper understanding of the present industrial conditions. 

“Second — There must be wise election of responsible 
men to POLITICAL OFFICE —men who would bend their 
energies in the interest of the commonwealth and not for their 
personal gain. 

“Third — There must be the transformation from the 
present system of private ownership of the means of production 
and distribution, to collective ownership by the entire people. 
This would give to all equal right to the wealth of the nation. 
With these things accomplished, you are assured of a glori¬ 
ous, bloodless victory, that will unite rich and poor w T ith the 

[U9] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


universal divinely-inspired bond of human brotherhood.” 

Loud cheers fairly shook the hall as Richard concluded 
his speech and his friends surrounded him, greeting him with 
warm words of commendation. 

“Good! Randolph old fellow,” cried one, “I knew you 
had it in you to make a famous orator.” 

“You seem to have dissected the subject of the present 
conditions pretty thoroughly,” said another approvingly. 

“You nearly brought me to tears when you pictured the 
lives of the poor devils. Say, it must be awful to be poor,” 
said a third kind-hearted fellow. 

Numerous other comments were offered, but nothing so 
gratifying to Richard as the pleasing discovery that his uncle 
had been in the hall and an interested auditor of all he had 
said. The old gentleman had, however, supposed himself 
unobserved by his nephew and had slipped out as quietly as 
he had come in, so that when Richard succeeded at last in 
extricating himself from his friends, in looking about, he 
found his uncle had disappeared. 


[180] 


CHAPTER XXV 


Found 

W HEN Richard descended the stairs from the hall, he 
suddenly became aware of a slight commotion and the 
ominous word “Fire.” 

‘ ‘ Is there a fire near by ? ” he asked. 

“Up the street,” was the reply. “The orphan asylum is 
burning down.” 

Richard waited to hear no more but pushed his way 
through the excited throng at the foot of the stairs to the 
scene of the fire, hoping that he might be able to give some aid. 

The four story brick building was enwreathed in flames 
when he reached the spot, and he realized that the fire must 
have gained great headway before the engines arrived. 

As he gazed with intent eyes upon the monstrous pile of 
vomiting smoke and flames, he saw a female form suddenly 
appear at one of the windows of the third story. She held a 
child in her arms and seemed by her gestures to be imploring 
aid for the little one rather than for herself. Richard re¬ 
sponded instantly to her cry for help. The engines were on the 
other side of the building where the children were being 
rescued by the brave firemen as fast as they could reach them. 

With faculties instantly alert, the young man pushed his 
way through the dense crowd. Throwing off his coat he flung 
it on the ground and rushed to the aid of the woman, realiz¬ 
ing that any delay meant death. 

There was a moment of breathless excitement and some 
one tried to restrain him. As he tore himself free, he saw it 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


was his uncle. “Don’t fear,” he cried, and rushed to the 
burning building. He was at a fearful disadvantage as he 
began to climb the iron balconies for the smoke and flames had 
increased and now poured from almost every window. The 
on-lookers cried in horror at the madness of his attempt, but 
they soon discovered that the climber was a trained athlete, 
for his long arms held on the balconies, and wreathed them¬ 
selves about the iron railings with the suppleness and tenacity 
of serpents. 

“ Oh! look at him! ’ ’ they gasped in the crowd as Richard 
climbed one balcony after another, and swung himself from 
one side to another, his head thrown back in an effort to 
escape the suffocating smoke. Mounting higher and higher, 
gaining railing after railing, he advanced toward the window 
from which the woman and child had disappeared. 

“He will do it!” came the exultant cry from the street. 
One more railing, one last effort, and he had done it, and as 
he disappeared through the window a mighty cheer went up 
from the anxious crowd below. 

“Call the firemen; bring around the fire-escape,” shouted 
some one, and there was a rush for the other side of the 
building. 

What fate awaited the hero who had volunteered his life 
for another? Would he perish in his noble effort? Was his 
brave heart stilled in that last generous endeavor? Awful 
doubt thrilled every one of the watchers. But just as the 
fire-escape appeared, being manned by the firemen, the figure 
in the white shirt sleeves flashed out again. He was standing 
on the balcony with the woman and child in his arms. A fire¬ 
man sprang up the ladder,— a puff of wind at that moment 
blew aside the flames and smoke, and presently the men with 
their burdens reached the ground safely. 

The few minutes of supreme anxiety were over, and 
Richard was again standing in the midst of the crowd. His 


FOUND 


face was blackened and his clothes were scorched, but he was 
the hero of a generous act, nobly done. Men and women 
gathered about him exclaiming at the bravery of his action 
and their joy at his marvelous success, while he was still sup¬ 
porting the unconscious girl whom he had rescued from a 
horrible death. 

“Oh, Richard, Richard!” cried his uncle, who had been a 
terrified spectator. “I — I — thought you were lost to me. 
You must be hurt, seriously hurt, perhaps,” he added, run¬ 
ning his trembling hands over his nephew’s shoulders and 
arms, as if in search of broken bones. 

“Only a few scratches more or less,” answered Richard, 
smilingly. 

“Here is your coat, let me put it on you, or you will 
catch a death of a cold if you remain like this any longer.” 

“I am not cold, thank you, uncle, you might put it on 
the poor girl,— she has fainted.” 

“What have you done with the child?” asked Mr. Ran¬ 
dolph, as he noticed for the first time the absence of the little 
one. 

11 The fireman gave it to the matron. ’ 9 

“What are you going to do with her?” asked Mr. Ran¬ 
dolph again as he covered the still form with the coat as 
Richard had suggested. 

“I shall take her home, uncle, if you do not object. No 
one here seems to have any special interest in her.” As he 
spoke he looked closely at the senseless girl. A cry of sharp 
agony broke from his lips, as he beheld the face of Florence, 
for it was she whom he had rescued and who now lay in his 
arms like a helpless child. 

“Uncle,” he cried, and the sound of his own voice almost 
frightened him. “Please get a taxi quickly, this is Miss 

Ellsmere. ’ 9 


[183] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Mr. Randolph looked up in amazement. “Miss Ells- 
mere!” he cried. “Can it be possible?” Without further 
delay however he pushed his way eagerly through the crowd 
in search of a taxi. 

The attention of the crowd was again focused upon the 
scene of the fire, and Richard and his charge were left un¬ 
disturbed. He pressed the pathetic, slight form close to his 
heart as a mother would a long lost child. He kissed the small 
white hands that were almost as badly bruised as his, and the 
brow on which there was a deep cut caused by the falling 
glass. He called her name tenderly, and tried to make her 
hear and understand his questions, but she was deaf to all his 
entreaties. Mr. Randolph soon returned with a taxi and they 
hurried home with all possible speed. 

When the doctor, who had been summoned to attend 
Florence, left the room in which she lay, Richard was stand¬ 
ing in the hall, anxiously awaiting his appearance. ‘ ‘ Tell me, 
doctor,” he asked in a voice which betrayed great anxiety, 
catching him by the arm, “is there serious danger?” 

“I think not. The young lady has had a most marvelous 
escape, a few moments longer would have caused her death, 
for she had inhaled considerable smoke, but I have great hopes 
that she will recover in a few days.” 

‘ ‘ Thank God , 1 ’ burst from the young man’s lips, and the 
doctor departed with a smile. 

Richard stepped softly to the sick room and stood a 
moment unobserved at the door looking in at the bed on which 
Florence lay with closed eyes. The housekeeper was watching 
beside her. Richard gently tapped upon the door and, quick 
to understand his appealing glance, she beckoned him to enter. 
She liked Richard and lavished motherly care upon him 
since he had come to live with his uncle. Her womanly in¬ 
stinct revealed to her how dear Florence was to him, and she 
could not refuse to gratify his wish to see the girl. He went 

[184] 


FOUND 


toward the bed noiselessly, striving to control his feelings, but 
could not resist the temptation to take one of the little slender 
hands that lay upon the coverlet, and kissed it. 

Florence slowly opened her eyes and when she found 
herself looking up into the face of Richard, her first startled 
glance gave way to one of supreme content, and a sigh 
escaped her lips. Too weak to speak, for a moment she met his 
tender gaze with a sweet smile, and then the weary eyelids 
closed, and the little hand nestled between the two that held 
it so protectingly, and she sank into a gentle slumber. 

Richard’s joy at finding Florence again after so many 
weary weeks of fruitless search was unbounded, but no words 
can describe his sorrow and regret as he listened to the story 
of her sad experience. 

“Why did you not write to me when you heard of our 
return to New York?” he asked, taking her hands and looking 
earnestly into her pale face. 

‘ ‘ I did not want to add more to the burden that you were 
already carrying on your shoulders,” she replied hesita¬ 
tingly. ‘ ‘ I thought it would be best to work for some time — 
until — until—” and she stopped in confusion. 

Richard watched her sweet blushing face for a moment, 
and then said, “My darling, could you so mistake my feelings 
for you! Thank God I have found you, ’ ’ he cried, drawing 
her closer to him, as though nothing in the world should ever 
part them again. She lay trembling in his clasp, ineffably 
happy. 

This conversation took place a week after Florence’s 
rescue. It had seemed a weary time to the young man before 
the physician allowed him to speak to her, but when the day 
came a scene of tender joy and love took place too great for 
words to describe. Mr. Randolph, too, was almost beside 
himself with happiness. He was forever telling his friends 

[i85] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


how “My boy saved Florence,” and he did not tire of speak¬ 
ing of her beauty and her heroism that had quite equalled 
Richard’s, for she had endeavored to save the orphan child 
at the risk of her own life. 

When Florence had reached New York, her first effort 
had been to seek work. She answered an advertisement to 
take care of orphan children at the asylum and obtained the 
position. The girl was thankful to find such interesting work, 
and at times almost forgot her own sorrows and loneliness in 
ministering to those entrusted to her care. She performed her 
duties with the kindness and consideration of her love for her 
charges, and she soon won the esteem of her associates in the 
work. On the night of the fire, Florence had not lost her head 
as did many of the others. She had run to the rooms where the 
little ones slept and carried several, two at a time, through the 
dense smoke to the fire-escapes where helping hands relieved 
her of her burdens. She was about to leave the burning build¬ 
ing after her work was done, when she thought of a sick child 
who was in the hospital ward. Fearing that she may have been 
overlooked by the nurses, she ran back. The helpless child lay 
in her cot forgotten. Florence took her in her arms but there 
was no way of escape, already the flames were creeping under 
the door of the room. She rushed to the window and cried 
aloud for help, but with little hope of being saved, were it not 
for Richard who heard and answered her cry. Little wonder 
that Mr. Randolph spoke of Florence’s and Richard’s bravery 
whenever he had a chance. 

‘ ‘ She deserves to be Richard’s wife; they are both brave 
and noble,” he would say, adding a fervent, “God bless 
them. ’ ’ 

Richard was eager to take Florence to his mother as soon 
as she was able to travel. He had of course no realization of 
the change that had been wrought at his home during his 
absence. His uncle, however, strongly objected to the plan. 

[i 86] 


FOUND 


No, Richard, 7 ’ he said, when the matter was broached 
to him. “I may not be spared many years, and the Indian 
summer of my life will be made very happy by the presence 
of this dear child and yourself.” 

Placing his hand upon the young man’s shoulder, the 
proud, reserved uncle freely opened the treasures of the 
tender feelings of his heart toward his nephew. 

“Richard, my son,” he said in a husky voice, “you have 
given me new hopes,— new joy in life in spite of myself; after 
all love is but the one thing that leads our lives in worthy 
channels. You have made a man of me,” he continued 
slowly. “I was cruel and selfish,— and I have paid a terrible 
price for all my faults. You said once that there would not be 
true happiness without a clear conscience. I realize that my 
life has been a failure, but the future shall atone in part for 
the past; and Richard, ’ ’ he continued, looking up after a brief 
silence, “I have something else to say to you. I have made 
you my heir. You are true and noble and might well be 
trusted with a kingdom.” 

“But I do not wish for a kingdom, uncle,” protested 
Richard smiling. 

“I know you don’t, my son. You are independent, and 
that is why I love you and have loved and honored you from 
the beginning of our association. My heart has been con¬ 
quered by your sincerity and manliness. Were you my own 
son I could not take greater pride in you, and yet despite all 
this, I have been cold and repellent in my attitude toward 
you. Can you forgive me, Richard?” 

“Don’t ask any forgiveness, uncle,” said Richard with 
emotion. “I have nothing to forgive. You have been like a 
father to me, and need not have given me further outward 
proof of your deep and lasting affection. Your proposal to 
make me your heir, uncle, can not increase my deep regard 
for you, nor my care for your interests. I shall surely try to 

[i87] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


be always a dutiful son, and/’ he added in a tremulous voice, 
“may it be long years before I claim my inheritance.” 

“God bless you,” said his uncle with a great feeling of 
gratitude. 

So it was arranged that Florence should remain in the 
beautiful home of which she was to be mistress some day and, 
after thinking it over, Richard was content that this was to be 
so. But in the midst of his happiness a cloud gathered and his 
heart was greatly saddened. 

He had very few letters from home of late, his mother 
pleading household duties as an excuse for not writing oftener, 
and although Alice tried to write cheerfully, she did not 
succeed in deceiving him. Something was disturbing them. 
He began to grow more and more uneasy and was conscious 
of an irresistible longing to see them, if only for a few hours. 
With Richard to resolve and to act were one and the same 
thing. Bidding Florence and his uncle goodbye, he set out 
for Westwood to spend the week end. 

He arrived there at six in the evening and spent some 
time seeking the cottage in which his mother lived. 

He noiselessly entered the gate and stepped to a window. 
The shades had not been drawn and he could plainly see all 
that transpired within the living room, though he was screened 
by the darkness about him. 

At a small table in the center of the room sat his mother 
steadily sewing, her form wearily bending over her work. 
There was no color in her thin wan face and her hair was 
almost white. In a corner near a desk he saw Alice poring 
over some papers a pile of which lay heaped about her. She 
too looked thin and worn and her sweet face seemed to have 
settled into unaccustomed lines of sadness. Edgar and Ellen 
sat near by with books. 

His eyes wandered again to the place where his mother 
sat and his heart was torn with remorse. “My God,” he 

[188] 


\ 


FOUND 

groaned, can this be my mother ?’ ’ Where was the erect 
and graceful carriage, the lovely outlined face, the wealth 

of glossy light hair, where were the soft sweet curves about 
her lips? 

‘‘And Alice, my dear sister! Is it possible that a few 
months could make such a change?” She was beautiful, but 
where were the roses that glowed brightly on her cheeks? 
W T here was her cheery smile, the sparkle in her lovely eyes ? 

“My mother, my sister,” he groaned, “what blight has 
wrought this terrible change ! ’ ’ 

Richard went back to the gate and leaned motionless 
against it. He removed his hat to let the cold night air blow 
upon his temples; his mother’s and sister’s faces had revealed 
to him all the pitiful history of their suffering during those 
cruel months, and he was crushed. In those few moments 
out in the cold and darkness, he scourged himself mercilessly 
for his criminal selfish neglect of these dear ones. Nor did 
he find excuse in the loving deception of Alice which had 
kept him in ignorance of their true condition. When he had 
become calmer he turned and retraced his steps, this time 
ringing the bell. Edgar went to the door and when he saw his 
brother, he uttered a cry of joy. His mother and Alice rose 
at the same time. They remained standing as if in a trance, 
bewildered, gazing at him as though something unreal. So 
dazed were they by his sudden appearance, so overwhelmed 
with mingled joy and amazement that not a sound, not a word 
of greeting were they able to utter. 

Richard stood an instant in the doorway, his eyes fixed 
upon his mother with an expression of infinite tenderness. 
‘ ‘ Mother, ’ ’ he cried, with a choking voice, ‘ ‘ my dear mother! ’ ’ 

His words aroused Mrs. Randolph from her stupefaction 
and she met him with outstretched arms. In an instant 
Richard had folded the frail form to his heart, his body 
heaving with great sobs. 

[189] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


When all the affectionate greetings were over, he gently 
but firmly insisted on knowing everything, and when he had 
been made acquainted with all their hardships he quietly took 
affairs in his own hands. He resolved at once to accept the 
munificent salary which his uncle had offered him in vain 
when he had taken the place of private secretary. This sum 
would be sufficient to keep them in comfort, and still enable 
him to carry out their great desire that he finish his studies. 
He agreed with them that they could not become beneficiaries 
of Uncle Charles, and decided that nothing should be said to 
him of the change in their financial standing. 

With these matters fully arranged he returned to New 
York the following Monday. As he mounted the stairs of his 
uncle’s mansion he noticed unusual signs of commotion, and 
became alarmed when Florence met him looking white and 
tearful. 

“Oh, Richard,” she sobbed, “uncle is very ill and the 
doctor says his days are numbered.” 

Ghastly pallor spread over the young man’s face at the 
sad tidings, and he hastened to the room where his uncle lay. 
One look at the invalid convinced him that Florence had 
spoken truly. He bent down and took the weak, trembling 
hand in his own, but there was no sign of recognition in the 
sunken eyes of the dying man. His decline was rapid. Flor¬ 
ence and Richard were untiring in their attendance upon the 
afflicted man. For three days they knew neither sleep nor 
rest. None of all the other attendants could supply to the 
invalid the place of Florence. No step in the sick-chamber 
was so light as hers, no voice so soft and sweet to the sufferer’s 
sensitive ear. Although he was, for the greater part of the 
time, unconscious of his surroundings, he always seemed to 
rest calmer when the girl’s hand had delicately smoothed the 
pillows and administered the refreshing draughts. 

On the fourth day the patient seemed more like himself. 

[190] 


FOUND 


He spoke cheerfully, though with effort, to Richard and 
Florence who were standing near the bed. Taking a hand of 
each in his own he talked to them of the bright future, advis¬ 
ing them to lead the life of love and duty — to be truthful and 
honest. 

“Ah,” he sighed, “life is sweet but very few have the 
right key to find its sweetness. I failed to find it, until too 
late.” 

In the evening of the same day when Richard sat down 
to his desk to answer the many accumulated letters, a knock 
on the door interrupted his work. 

“What is it, James?” he asked anxiously, fearing the 
butler had come to summons him to the sick man’s room. 

“Just this, sir,” James replied and handing over a 
package to Richard, he added, “Mr. Randolph wished me to 
give this to you.” 

Richard saw that is was a large-size envelope, sealed and 
addressed to himself. “How is my uncle?” he inquired, still 
holding the envelope and curiously wondering at its contents. 

‘ ‘ He is resting quite comfortably. Is there anything more 
I can do for you tonight, sir?” 

“No, James, and since you have been so long confined 
to the house, you may take the evening off.” 

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” cried James, his face 
brightening, “but do you really think you can spare me?” 

“Yes, my uncle is feeling better today and Miss Ellsmere 
and I will see that he does not want for anything.” 

With another “Thank you,” James hurried away anxious 
to take this opportunity to see his sweetheart, who possibly 
might think him neglectful. 

Resuming his chair, Richard tore open the envelope hur¬ 
riedly and as he did so many closely written sheets in his 
uncle’s handwriting fell out. Curious to know what his uncle 
had written he commenced to read. 

[!9i] 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Secrets and Revelations 

D EAR RICHARD, several times I have made an attempt 
to speak to you and unload the burden of sorrow that 
has oppressed my heart and soul since my early man¬ 
hood but my strength and courage failed me and feeling that 
my days are numbered, I have decided to write instead. 

For two reasons I want you to know the story of my reck¬ 
lessly spent youth — first because ever since I met you, I have 
seen that you are following in your father’s footsteps — a 
life of righteousness and I want you to know that I realize 
now more than ever that your father’s way of living was 
right and mine was wrong; also that your efforts to wake me 
from a profound slumber in selfishness and darkness to see 
the bright light of the real joys of living were not in vain — 
my only regret is that it came so near the end. May God 
guide you always to live the same virtuous life that your 
father did and be free from sin. It will save you many long 
years of grief, sorrow and remorse. There is one thing that 
makes life bitter and that is an accusing conscience. It is a 
useless and vain struggle to stifle guilty thoughts. That is 
how I have been long tortured. 

Second — I hope and pray that you may succeed where 
I have failed. I desire that you continue the search for a little 
girl who should now be about eleven years of age. When I 
lost her, she was an infant. To find her has been the only aim 
of my life all these years but all my efforts have been in vain. 
I am about to confess a crime — the word is not too harsh 


[192] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


— a deed that I committed in my early manhood that has 
weighed heavily on my mind these long joyless years. It is 
a crime that countless men of leisure are guilty of — one that 
makes them responsible for the downfall of women — whether 
committed innocently or with knowledge, we men of the world 
are to blame — instead of cherishing them as innocent flowers 
and keeping them as pure as lilies, we tempt them with 
the splendor of our wealth and destroy their sweet, true 
womanhood. 

Yet few men guilty of this heinous offense have suffered 
as I have from the pangs of remorse when at last remorse 
awoke in my callous heart. 

Alas, in m}^ case it came too late to make reparation. 

My crime is that I lured a sweet young girl to her death 
through the indulgence of my own selfish desires! 

Mine was a brief experience of love and the happiness 
attendant upon it. It was after she was lost to me that I 
realized more than ever how dear she had grown. It was then 
that I realized that the only hours of happiness I had ever 
known had been at her side. 

When I was twenty-three years old and a senior and my 
brother John a freshman at college, we were called home to 
the deathbed of our father. We inherited his wealth in equal 
shares. John’s ambitions were to study law — I had no 
special ambition except to enjoy life. 

I bought out his rights to our father’s business — which 
consisted of coal mines — and he bought out my rights in the 
home our grandfather had built. Thus it happened that he 
remained the sole owner of the beautiful Randolph mansion. 

During my first three years at college, I lived the life of 
any rich young man^—although I longed to join my class¬ 
mates in many of their wild adventures, I had to be more or 
less careful out of my fear of my father. He was a practical 

[ J 9 3 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


business man and by no means liberal regarding gambling, 
wine and women. 

After his death, I began to sow my wild oats. My last 
year at college was a record-breaker! I tried to interest John 
in the pleasures in which I freely indulged, but he refused to 
join with me. His calm, virtuous life, stuck like a bone in 
my throat and when he began continuously to shower re¬ 
proaches upon me, I lost patience and kept out of his way as 
much as possible. 

One morning he came into my room after having heard 
some rumor of my having helped the bo} r s kidnap a chorus 
girl. He faced me in his calm way and demanded that I tell 
the truth. I felt ashamed of my weakness but was too proud 
to admit my guilt. His quiet way of speaking added fire to my 
anger until I became so filled with rage that I struck him. 
It was a cowardly act and I felt sorry the minute I did it. 
He remained silent but his expression of pity and yet con¬ 
tempt cut me to the core of my heart. I became more and 
more enraged and going to the door held it open and com¬ 
manded him to get out of my sight. 

He went, saying that if I did not change my mode of 
living I would never see him again — and I never did. 

As the years went by he made several attempts to make 
me understand that he had forgiven my cowardly action — by 
sending me the announcements of his marriage and of the 
births of his three children — these I acknowledged by a few 
lines of congratulations. I longed to see him and knew it was 
my place to go to him first but my stubborn pride made me a 
coward and I simply lacked the courage to face him. 

When I graduated from college and was planning a trip 
to Europe, I received a message notifying me of an explosion 
that had occurred in one of the anthracite coal-mining districts 
in Pennsylvania. I went there to investigate the matter. 

I arrived just in time to witness the search for the dead 

[ J 94] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


bodies. About two hundred human bodies had perished in the 
ruins and of these only fifty-four bodies had, so far, been 
recovered. 

The grief of those upon whom the blow fell was beyond 
description. I was really sick at heart to watch the pitiful 
surroundings of the sufferers. 

The passionate weeping of a young and singularly beau¬ 
tiful girl prostrated over a badly crushed body, attracted my 
attention. The horrified expression and suffering on the sweet 
girlish face lent character and interest to its innocent beauty 
and charm. Her heartbroken sobs touched my heart as I 
stood there fascinated — watching her. She raised her tear- 
filled eyes to mine revealing their beautiful blue depths. I 
felt at that moment I would give half of my life to possess 
her. I spoke a few kind words to her and soon won her con¬ 
fidence. 

I learned that her name was Rosamond Miller and that 
she lived with her father and a maiden aunt in one of the 
regulation cottages. Her father earned fifteen dollars a week 
and she assured me that the amount would have been ample 
to support them but, unfortunately, he had been unable to 
work regularly on account of an illness common to miners. 
Their small savings soon disappeared in doctor’s bills and 
medicines. At times they had had hardly enough to supply the 
necessities of life, and moreover they were in debt — and now 
that her father was killed, she and her aunt did not know 
where to go or what to do. 

The other inhabitants of the town were themselves needy 
and could offer no help. Apparently they were without means 
to take them away to seek work. 

I saw my chance — I asked her if she and her aunt would 
like to come and live with me, as I, too, was alone, and wanted 
someone to take care of me. I described to her the kind of a 
home they would have — the fine clothes to wear — the good 

[> 95 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


food to eat. I need not describe the childish delight with 
which she accepted my proposition. 

It was therefore arranged that I should remain until after 
her father’s funeral and then take them with me. Not for 
a moment did she suspect my base, selfish motive. So great a 
faith had the beautiful, innocent girl that she unhesistatingly 
consented to my proposition that I should advance money to 
clear her father’s name of all debts and to pay the funeral 
expenses. 

I gave her my address at the hotel where I was staying 
and told her I should expect her and her aunt there in three 
days’ time. 

To pick up a pretty girl and take her to a New York 
hotel was an easy game for a wild fellow like myself, but in 
this case, however, it was different. I did not have the heart 
to carry out my wild scheme — yet to find a home for the two 
lonely beings was a hard problem to solve. 

The only way to face the situation was to take them to 
New York and hire an apartment. But then the memory came 
to me of a little cottage which had been built in Westwood by 
my father the year before he died. It was built for the pur¬ 
pose of being a wedding gift to his butler — the couple quar¬ 
reled and the wedding never took place. So the cottage was in 
the market for sale, the money to be given to some charitable 
institution. 

I lost no time in seeing my lawyer who had the sale in 
charge and who also was a close friend of mine. I told him 
the story and that I felt in duty bound to help these two 
people. The deal was made and the cottage was mine. I told 
my friend that there was only three days in which to furnish 
it and asked him to attend to everything that was necessary 
to make it comfortable. 

When I brought my two guests to their new home, I was 
surprised to find it so cosy and inviting and you can imagine 

[196] 



SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


their enthusiasm, delight and gratitude. I really felt a keen 
sense of pleasure to see them so happy. 

The most interesting event took place in the little living 
room when Rosamond spied the piano. “Oh,” she exclaimed 
in delight and ran to the instrument with hands outstretched 
as if to embrace it as a dear old friend, and began to play and 
sing German folksongs and my surprise was great to see a 
miner’s daughter so proficient. 

That evening when we sat at table enjoying a simple but 
tasty meal in which Rosamond’s aunt exhibited her German 
art for cooking, I learned more of the history of the little 
wild flower I had plucked from the ruins of the coal mine. 

Her father had been a German author and on account 
of his liberal ideas, he and his family, consisting of a wife and 
little girl, had been compelled to leave the Fatherland. They 
had come to America and had settled in Pennsylvania near the 
coal regions, among friends from his native country. 

Being without financial means he had no choice of work 
and was forced to take what he could get and so from writing 
books and poems he had become a mere coal miner. His wife 
who was a woman of refinement and in rather delicate health 
could not become used to the change from the highly cultured 
life and associations to the rough method of living among the 
coal mines. She failed rapidly and died three years later. 

Mr. Miller had then sent for his sister who was living in 
Germany to come and care for his motherless child. In spite 
of their squalid surroundings, they had managed to bring 
Rosamond up in a much better way than that of the average 
child of the district. While she had attended the public school, 
her father had also taken pains to teach her more than she 
had learned in the schools. As a result from childhood, she 
had been able to speak, write and read French, Italian and 
German. 

Miss Miller had earned her living in Germany teaching 

[19 7 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


the piano and upon her arrival in America invested her sav¬ 
ings in a piano, hoping to continue teaching In this country. 
In this she had been disappointed as the people who sur¬ 
rounded them did not enjoy the luxury of owning a piano or 
of being in a position to pay for lessons. So the instrument 
had been kept for the benefit of Rosamond. Thus not only 
was she well-educated in languages but was also an accom¬ 
plished musician. 

We talked until it was time for me to take the midnight 
train for Kingston where I intended to spend the night and to 
return to the scene of the explosion. I gave Miss Miller a 
liberal sum of money for living expenses and told her that 
every week she would receive the same amount. She thanked 
me profusely and regretted that I had to leave so soon. When 
I said goodbye to Rosamond it did not seem so easy to carry 
out my good intentions as I saw her lovely eyes fill with tears 
because I was going so soon. 

I could not resist their wistful pleading and decided to 
remain until morning. 

As long as I live I shall remember the torment I went 
through that night I spent under the same roof with her. For 
hours I tossed on my bed trjfing to overcome the longing 
which tortured my soul. I turned on the light and took up 
the paper in the hope of calming my passionate desire — but 
in vain. I could not put my mind on anything but Rosamond. 
At last I could stand it no longer — if I could but look upon 
her sweet face, I thought I would be satisfied. All I had to 
do was to open the door which connected her room with mine. 
I pushed aside the draperies and the light from my room cast 
its rays upon her bed where she lay sleeping peacefully — 
perhaps the first restful night she had had since her father’s 
death. 

How long I stood there feasting my hungry eyes on her 
loveliness I do not know—I was only conscious that unless 

[i 9 8] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


I satisfied my burning desire, I would go insane. To take a 
few steps and be near her would have been easy—she was 
so innocent and ignorant of the life of folly that even if she 
awoke and found me in her room she would not have known 
its meaning. 

However, I made no such attempt — something within me 
held me back. I felt that I would be committing a crime if I 
dared to lay a hand on the beautiful child divine providence 
had placed in my keeping. 

Presently a feeling of calm and peacefulness came over 
me and I thank God whenever I think of the strength that was 
given me to resist. As soon as daylight came, I left, but not 
before writing a few lines in which I told her that pressing 
business hurried me away before making my farewells and 
perhaps would keep me in the city indefinitely. 

I then went back to the scene of the explosion and faith¬ 
fully put my heart and soul into the work of helping the 
unfortunate people and putting everything in running order 
again. This done, I carried out my plan of a trip to Europe 
that I had made before the accident had occurred. 

It was my intention to stay away at least one year but 
in six months I was on my way back to New York. I realized 
it was no use for me to fight the battle of resistance any 
longer — never having been deprived of what I had set my 
heart upon getting it was no easy matter to keep up my good 
resolutions — I wanted Rosamond more than I had ever 
wanted anything else in my life. 

I decided that I must have her not matter by what way 
or means I was to get her. I reached New York on a Sunday 
morning and in the evening was on my way to Westwood. 

I reached the cottage about midnight. I had a latchkey 
and was able to reach my room unobserved without difficulty. 
The door connecting my room with Rosamond’s was open, 
and by the rays of the light in her room, I knew that she was 

[i99] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


still awake. Gently I stepped to the door, and, drawing apart 
the draperies, I looked in. 

I shall always remember the picture I saw there. The 
surroundings of her room were quite different from the last 
time I had seen them. The artistic arrangement gave evidence 
of the refined and exquisite taste of the occupant. Rosamond 
was lovelier than ever as she sat bent over her book near the 
reading lamp. She was dressed in a loose gown of some soft 
material — her little bare feet sheltered in Japanese embroid¬ 
ered slippers and her wonderful golden hair rippling to the 
floor. The little white poodle I had sent her just after my 
departure was lying comfortably at her feet. 

‘ ‘ Lucky dog! ’ ’ how r I envied him! 

Rosamond was apparently very much interested in what 
she was reading as exclamations of delight escaped her every 
now and then. She was so absorbed in the book that she was 
unconscious of her surroundings. 

I tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb her 
and enjoy the pleasure of looking at her before I made my 
presence known. 

She was so beautiful — so fascinating — that I could 
scarcely withhold the longing to clasp her in my arms. The 
fire in my blood drove me to the impulse of pushing aside the 
curtain and entering the room. 

A bark from the dog gave his mistress warning that 
someone was intruding — she jumped up, the book dropping 
to the floor unheeded. When she realized who the intruder 
was, she ran to meet me with hands outstretched and the hap¬ 
piness expressed in her features showed me how pleased she 
was to see me. 

I took her in my arms and held her fast — w r hat I felt 
w r hen her soft white arms were around my neck, her heaving 
bosom against my heart — is beyond description — all I can 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


say is, I would have given my life many times over for many 
more such precious moments. 

She had greeted me like any affectionate child running 
to someone she loved devotedly. She was too young and inno¬ 
cent to know that her sleeping room was no place to receive 
a man visitor especially at midnight. 

The risk she was running in yielding to my embrace, 
an evil-minded creature like myself only knew. But when¬ 
ever I think of it, I always give thanks that I was man 
enough not to betray her childish confidence. 

I sat down in the chair she had vacated and she settled 
herself comfortably on my knee. With childish curiosity she 
asked many questions and answered mine. We talked until 
we had lost all sense of time and place. 

At last, weary from the excitement and lateness of the 
hour, she nestled her pretty head against my bosom and just 
as any child, tired of play — fell asleep. 

One can easily imagine what my feelings were as I sat 
there those long hours holding her close to my throbbing heart. 

I kissed her closed eyes — her cherry lips which were 
parted in a peaceful smile — her bare throat that was heaving 
with the gentle motion of natural, sound sleep but all my 
efforts to awaken an answering response in her warm body 
seemed to be in vain. Only once she opened her eyes, slipped 
her soft white arms up on my shoulder and with a little sigh 
of content, fell asleep again. 

Passion’s hunger burned in my soul. Temptation cried, 
“Why not nowf” but reason said “No! it would he treason 
and so the more I wanted her, the less I dared. 

Finally I began to feel faint from the inward struggle I 
was experiencing. Gently I lifted her and laid her on the 
bed and fled to my room where I fell exhausted on a chair. 
My every nerve quivered from exciting emotions. Gradually 

[201] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


it mercifully died out and as soon as I became calmer, I began 
to think. 

I realized that there was only one way in which I could 
make her mine — and it meant honorable marriage — and no 
sooner did I make this resolution than I felt myself — body 
and mind — relax. Then a wonderful, peaceful feeling came 
over me. I must have fallen asleep for I had a strange dream 
which still lingers in my memory. 

I dreamed that I was being dragged through darkness, 
somewhere where it was stifling hot and every moment it 
grew hotter and hotter. At last, when I felt that I would 
suffocate from the intense heat — a cold wave came and I 
found myself in space where I could see nothing but blue sky, 
sunshine, and everywhere garlands of roses intermingled with 
orange blossoms. In the midst of these flowers stood my Rosa¬ 
mond dressed in white as a bride and as sweet as an angel — 
her beautiful face radiant with happiness -— beckoning me 
towards her — I tried to go but felt powerless to move — at 
this point I awoke. I tried to analyze what the dream meant 
and came to the conclusion that it had been necessary for me 
to go through hell before I could enter the gates of heaven. 

I went downstairs where I found Miss Miller already busy 
preparing breakfast. She was surprised, but very glad, to see 
me again. When I told her of my intentions regarding Rosa¬ 
mond she was very happy and with a ‘ ‘ God bless you, ’ ’ sing¬ 
ing in my ears I left to make arrangements for the wedding. 

First I went to a clergyman whom I had known as a boy. 
I told him what my errand was and he promised to come at 
five that afternoon. I next went to the city and visited the 
largest department store where I told a saleslady w T hat I 
wanted. She smiled and told me to leave the matter with her 
and within an hour or so a dozen or more parcels were sent 
to the cottage — by a special messenger — on approval. 

I then went to the jewelers and had them send a casket 

[202] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS 


of jewels for Rosamond to select from; I did not forget the 
florist, knowing that a floral decoration would please her most. 

When I returned to the cottage I found everything in 
readiness for a wedding even to the wedding cake, but when I 
went upstairs to seek my little wild flower I found her room 
topsy-turvy and Rosamond in the midst of being arrayed in 
her bridal robes. 

Her eyes shining like stars and cheeks glowing like roses 
she ran to meet me. 

I knew that she loved me devotedly and through that love 
I knew I could mould her will to mine — therefore I had no 
anxiety as to whether or not she would be satisfied with the 
arrangement for our hasty marriage. Her affectionate greet¬ 
ing meant consent. When I asked her if she was satisfied 
with the outcome of her fairy story that the Prince (her name 
for me) should marry the Princess, she innocently replied 
that it ended just as she thought it would! Only it happened 
much sooner than she had expected! 

At five p. m. the minister came and the ceremony took 
place — Miss Miller and my lawyer acting as witnesses. 

After the wedding supper when my wife was about to go 
upstairs to change her bridal costume, I whispered a request 
that she dress in the same gown she had worn the night before. 

Her laughing eyes sought mine. “Why?” she asked, and 
I replied that she was so bewitchingly pretty in it that it made 
me marry her. No doubt womanly instinct made her realize 
what to expect. She turned her head away from my lingering 
gaze which betrayed my passionate longing. With downcast 
eyes and cheeks crimson with embarrassment she ran upstairs. 
When I followed a little later, I found that she had granted 
my wish — she gave me a comprehending smile — yet full of 
the winsomeness of youth. 

My happiness when I held her in my arms the night of our 
wedding compared to what I had felt the night before is too 

[203] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 

/ 

sacred for words. The touch of her soft hare arms around my 
neck thrilled me to the depths of my soul and as she yielded 
her sweet lips to mine in the first lingering, passionate kiss, 
the blood set racing through my body. It was the sweetest 
and purest sensation life had ever brought to me and for the 
first time I realized that to honor true love and duty lies 
therein real happiness and peace. The memory of her innocent 
lovely and winsome transformation from beautiful maiden¬ 
hood into willing, dutiful wifehood stirs my heart like a living 
thing — even now. 


[204] 


CHAPTER XXYII 


Secrets and Revelations — Continued 

A LTHOUGH I considered myself a very lucky man to be 
the husband of such a treasure as I possessed, neverthe¬ 
less I shrank from making my marriage public — not 
because I was not proud of the woman I had married — know¬ 
ing that, should I introduce her to New York society, she 
would outshine many American highbred women in beauty, 
style and education, but she was so young and unsophisticated 
that I did not want public sentiment to judge her until she 
was older and more polished in real Americanism. I, there¬ 
fore, decided to spend our honeymoon in “Paradise Cottage” 
as we had named it. 

How I lived the first few months of our marriage, I can 
not describe. All I know is, it was heaven on earth to be 
near her. Just as a rosebud blossoms out into a full-blown rose, 
so did she, daily develop from a sweet and lovely maiden into 
a glorious woman. 

Towards the end of that period I began to notice a great 
change in her and this gave me a great deal of anxiety. In¬ 
stead of waking in the morning with cheeks glowing like roses, 
she was pale and there were dark circles around her eyes. Her 
sweet mouth drooped pathetically at the corners — I began to 
miss the music of her laughter. The droop of her shoulders 
and the wistful look in her lovely eyes went straight to my 
heart. Whenever she was conscious that I was observing her 
anxiously, she would turn her head away as if she wished to 
avoid my glance. 


[ 2 °5] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


I consulted a physician and after he had visited her, he 
came to me and told me what 1 was to expect in the near 
future. 

At first I was overjoyed to hear the news hut when the 
doctor also remarked that my wife was but seventeen years old 

— a rather tender age to be called upon for such an ordeal, 
I began to fear the consequences and when he added that she 
needed tender care and that I must spare her as much as I 
could in the future, I knew exactly what he meant and began 
to feel like the brute I really was — not until that day had I 
realized that I had only thought of my own selfish desires and 
little did I consider what hardships I was inflicting upon my 
dear child-wife. 

After this whenever I looked at her sweet, angelic face, 
I could not help thinking that she was gradually fading away 

— just as a flower does after it has been plucked and bruised. 
My love and devotion for her increased tenfold. It was torment 
to me to have her out of my sight, especially at such times as 
business and social duties took me to New York. 

When the time came that my child-wife was called upon 
to make the desperate fight for life I was conscience stricken 
and realized with overwhelming force the enormity of my sin 

— I was to be the father of a child, who at its birth would 
probably cost its mother’s life. I felt that I was actually her 
murderer. Her cries of agony nearly drove me insane. For 
two never-to-be-forgotten days, she hovered between life and 
death and as I sat near her holding her little hot, fevered, out¬ 
stretched hands in mine with appealing helplessness, I vowed 
that if she should be spared to me, I would devote my entire 
life to shield her from pain and misery thereafter, but alas! 
the doctor gave me no hope. My self-indulgence killed the 
beautiful girl I loved and cherished as my greatest earthly 
treasure. 

For a long time I lived as though I was in a trance — my 

[206] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS — Continued 


heart and soul seemed buried in the grave of my lost angel. 
If I had thought death would have united me with her again, 
I willingly would have died, but I had lost faith in everything. 
Even though I had believed there was such a thing as an 
hereafter, I felt that there would be no place in heaven for a 
wicked soul like mine beside one so pure and good as Rosa¬ 
mond’s. 

One thing only made me feel that I was still united to 
her and that was our child — a baby girl whom I named 
Rosamond after her mother. I left her in the care of Miss 
Miller and a trained nurse whom I had engaged permanently 
and feeling that my child, although motherless would not want 
for anything, I went back to New York — not to assume the 
old life — but to begin a new one; for I was a changed man 
after the experience I had had. 

When a year had passed and my old-time friends began 
to realize that I found no pleasure in participating in their 
usual gay parties, they began to wonder, but kept quiet and 
left me to myself — for which I was very thankful. Every 
minute I could spare from business duties, I spent at the 
cottage with my child. 

Even in her infancy, she showed traces of her mother’s 
beauty and the resemblance endeared her even more to me. 
Each time I went to see her, her sweet baby face showed a 
wondrous growth of intelligence and when she began to talk 
and for the first time called me “Daddy,” it was music to 
my ears and elixir to my oppressed soul and calloused heart. 
It was not very long however, that I was able to enjoy the 
quiet life that suited me so well. 

One day I received a letter from an old friend of my 
father, who had taken a great deal of interest in my wel¬ 
fare. He asked me to visit his home. There was to be a cele¬ 
bration in honor of his only daughter who had just returned 
from Switzerland. She was a very attractive and accomplished 

[207] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


young lady in her early twenties. Her father was very proud 
of her and I knew what his ambitions were concerning her. 
I did not wish to go but knowing it would have been a 
breach of friendship, I went. 

Towards the end of my visit he broached the subject of 
marriage to me. It was a very embarrassing situation and the 
thought of another marriage was distasteful. But the truth 
had to be faced — I took courage and made a clear breast of 
my story and ended in telling him that I was already the 
father of a child. It was not very pleasing news to him but 
his heart was set that I should wed his daughter and since I 
was free, there was no reason why it should not be. I knew the 
daughter also shared the father’s wish and from early girlhood 
had hoped that I would choose her to share her life with. 
There seemed no way out of it so I married her and prayed to 
be forgiven for the marriage vows I took and which I did not 
feel. At the request of her father I had withheld the facts 
concerning my first marriage. 

For a few years we lived apparently very contentedly. 
Although love was dead within me, I however, had a great 
respect and admiration for my wife. She was a woman any 
man would be proud of. Then came a day when there was a 
scene followed by a confession. Through some source, my wife 
had unearthed the story of my past and the existence of my 
child. She was one of those proud women who never forgive 
nor forget. The result was that total estrangement followed 
and so we lived our lives apart — though under the same roof 
to avoid scandal. It was a very unpleasant arrangement for 
my wife more than for me. I still had the blessing of a loving 
child. 

When little Rosamond was about fourteen, her great- 
aunt, Miss Miller, died. I was then obliged to place her in a 
boarding school. She knew nothing except that her mother 
had died when she was a baby, and I, her father, was compelled 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS — Continued 


by business interests to live away from her. Her letters to 
me were sent in the care of my attorney to a postoffice address 
in New York. 

As she grew into womanhood, her beauty increased and 
I began to fear the same good looks might bring her the same 
misfortune that had befallen her mother and so I carefully 
guarded her. She was of a very cheerful disposition and was 
content to live her simple life and I was thankful as this aided 
me to keep her away from the poisonous life of the upper 
classes — for my own experience had taught me a bitter lesson. 

On her eighteenth birthday I noticed a great change in 
her — she seemed to be shyer and yet — restless. Upon my 
asking her what was worrying her or what was wrong she 
confessed she was in love with a young man whom she had met 
at a class day dance. His name was Philip Vernon. He had 
just graduated from business college and already had an out¬ 
look to become superintendent for a big business firm in 
Kingston. I knew that some day I would have to part with 
her but the sudden news gave me a shock. I would not give 
my consent until I had met him and when I did meet the 
young man I could have no objection for he proved to be 
very refined and capable. I gave them my blessing and re¬ 
turned to New York with a heavy heart — yet secure in the 
knowledge that Rosamond would be happy under the protec¬ 
tion of one worthy of her love. 

For the wedding we opened the cottage as it was my 
daughter’s wish to make it her future home. My gift was a 
bankbook with a good balance — sufficient to start life in a 
modest but comfortable way. I went to see them as often as 
I could find time but one day on my way back to New York 
there was a railroad accident in which I was one of the victims. 
I received serious injuries that kept me for eighteen months 
flat on my back. 


[209] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Meanwhile I received a letter from my son-in-law an¬ 
nouncing the birth of a little daughter. I was very happy to 
read the news hut not satisfied until I could receive a letter in 
my daughter’s own handwriting. I anxiously waited three 
months. At last the message I wanted so much came and 
enclosed with it was a photograph of my daughter and her 
child. As I looked on it, it brought back so vividly the beauty 
of another in her baby days and that of her mother who 
gave her life for her. 

I treasure this picture more than any of my earthly 
riches. 

Another period of a few months passed without my hear¬ 
ing from them. Still helpless and confined to a sickroom I 
could do nothing but wait for news which never came. At 
last, when I could stand the suspense no longer, I sent for my 
lawyer and asked him to go and investigate. When he came 
back with the sad report of his inquiries, I felt that never 
before did the wrath of God fall so heavily on a sinful head 
as it now fell on mine. My pain and sorrow were almost un¬ 
bearable. 

This is the report my attorney brought: In order to save 
time in going back and forth to town, my son-in-law had 
bought a motorcycle and one evening on his way home, a ter¬ 
rible accident had occurred. The road was narrow and to avert 
a collision with a milk wagon, he turned aside — his motor¬ 
cycle had skidded and gotten beyond his control — the road 
being wet from a recent rain, was extremely slippery. He 
was thrown from his wheel and pitched headlong down an 
embankment, thirty feet below the road, falling into the lake 
at the foot of the embankment, where he was drowned. 

The driver of the milk wagon who witnessed the accident 
was powerless to give assistance but quickly notified police 
headquarters, who recovered the body, but life was extinct. 

When my daughter saw the lifeless form of her husband 

[210] 


SECRETS AND REVELATIONS — Continued 


being brought into the little cottage, she fell unconscious. Her 
health had been delicate since the birth of her child and the 
shock was too much for her. She regained consciousness, but 
it was only for a few days, when she succumbed under the 
weight of her sorrow, and within one week the two loving 
souls were united in death as they had been in life. 

Nobody knew what had become of the child, except that 
the nurse had taken it with her when she left the cottage. 

You can easily surmise what an ill effect this terrible 
news had on me. For many weeks I lay unconscious — when 
I recovered possession of my senses and realized what had 
happened my mental agony was awful. What I suffered those 
weary days that I lay helpless none but God knew — and He 
knew I deserved all. 

One day when I lay prostrated and praying for strength 
to be given me that I might be able to search for my lost 
grandchild, my wife paid me a visit. As she seldom came to 
my room, I was surprised to see her. She handed me a regis¬ 
tered letter. 

This letter, my wife said, had been delivered to her with 
other correspondence. She had first sent it up by her maid, 
who in finding me asleep had brought it back to her. She had 
then put into the book she was reading and forgotten all about 
it. In dusting the library that morning, the letter had fallen 
from the book and the maid had brought it to her. 

My wife hoped that it was not of sufficient importance 
as to have caused me any inconvenience in this delay of 
receiving it. 

This letter was from my lawyer and enclosed in it was a 
letter from the nurse informing me of the calamity and 
imploring me to come at once. The letter was dated several 
months previous. 

No doubt as she received no reply to this urgent plea, she 
must have thought me a heartless brute. Whether she had 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


taken the child from kindness or to spite me, I will never know. 

It was about two months later that the doctor gave me 
permission to walk, and as soon as I was strong enough to 
leave the house, I began to make inquiries about my orphaned 
grandchild. I left no stone unturned that offered a clue to the 
child’s whereabouts but to no avail. All that I could learn — 
was what I already knew — that the child had been taken 
away by the nurse — who this woman was or where she came 
from — no one seemed to know. 

All these years I have searched in a guarded way, the 
orphan asylums, convents, hospitals, and boarding schools, 
but without success. 

This is my story, Richard, which I have copied practically 
word for word from my diary. I wish I could have ended it 
otherwise. Of all life had to give, I have received so pitifully 
little — all its joys for me were crowded into so few splendid 
months — then they vanished as quickly as they had come.” 


[212] 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Ellen 

T HE first thing Richard did when he had finished reading 
was to say, “Thank God!” such a boundless relief and 
joy did he experience as he realized that his uncle had not 
failed to act honorably as befits a man. Leaning his head upon 
his hands he began to think and to plan. He put two and two 
together and came to the conclusion that his little adopted 
sister Ellen, was undoubtedly his second cousin and the grand¬ 
child of his uncle. 

He recalled the day when she had been brought to his 
home — he was a lad of fourteen and on his way home from 
school he had heard someone walking behind him with a heavy, 
weary step. He turned around and saw a woman carrying a 
baby on one arm and a heavy suitcase in the other hand. 
Knowing that the road led only to his own home, he had asked 
her if he could be of any assistance. Thanking him she had 
given him the suitcase saying she was going to see Mrs. 
Randolph. “She is my mother,” he had replied, “and I am 
Richard Randolph.” 

“Oh,” the lady had cried, “how time flies! It seems only 
a short time ago I took care of you as a baby.” 

When his mother and the lady had met, he had under¬ 
stood at once that they must have been old friends. His 
mother had taken the baby in her arms and exclaimed at her 
beauty. The visitor,— he had gathered from the conversation 
— was a nurse, and sitting in the chair Richard had offered 
her, she had related the sad story of the baby’s parents. 

[213] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


She was nurse to the child’s mother at the time of the 
baby’s birth and as the mother did not rapidly regain her 
strength she had remained with her some time. A few months 
later, the father of the baby had met with an accident and been 
brought home dead. The young mother became unconscious 
from the shock of this experience and never recovered, but 
passed away and the parents of the baby had been buried 
within a week of each other. 

The nurse had written to the only address she could find 
in the house — simply a postoffice box — hoping it was that of 
a relative or friend of the young couple and that some 
response would come to her, but she had waited at the cottage 
for a week and no reply had been received. 

Not knowing what to do, she had gathered up the baby’s 
clothes and the personal belongings — including some jewelry 
and a bankbook which showed a large balance, and locking up 
the cottage, she had brought the child straight to Mrs. Ran¬ 
dolph, feeling sure that she with her kindheartedness, would 
not refuse a home to the orphaned infant. 

Not only did his mother agree to adopt the child, but she 
had asked the nurse to remain and care for her, and to this 
the nurse had gladly consented. The baby’s real name was 
Ellen Vernon but the family name of Vernon was dropped 
as soon as she became one of the Randolph family. 

Richard smiled as he thought—“No wonder uncle could 
find no trace of his grandchild — the Randolph mansion would 
have been the last place he would have thought of looking for 
her. ’ ’ 

Richard at once wrote his mother asking her to send 
Ellen’s baby-picture also those of her parents saying that he 
would explain the reason for this in his next letter. 

He thought it unadvisable to speak to his uncle about it 
until he saw the pictures. The day these arrived, he hastened 
with them to the sickroom. The nurse was off duty and 

[214] 


ELLEN 


Florence was down stairs where she was acting as hostess to 
callers who had come to inquire as to the invalid’s condition. 
Richard felt that the time had come to speak. 

It required a great exercise of self-control to master the 
impulse to say at once he had brought good news, but knowing 
the long suffering and grief the sick man had endured he was 
fearful of the effects of the sudden shock of the good news, 
proving fatal. He therefore, began with a few commonplace 
sentences and gradually led up to the point regarding the 
search for the child. 

“Did you say, uncle, that your daughter’s husband’s 
name was Philip Vernon ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, yes! why do you ask?” cried the invalid starting 
and looking searchingly at Richard. 

Richard gently laid him back on his pillows and as 
calmly as possible gave him to understand that the search for 
the child might not be in vain for he ‘had reason to believe he 
knew of her whereabouts. 

“What did you say, Richard? Oh, God! can it be true!” 
the sick man cried excitedly again trying to rise. 

‘ ‘ Please, uncle, be calm, ’ ’ pleaded Richard, ‘ ‘ and tell me 
the name of your grandchild.” 

“She was named Ellen.” 

Richard’s heart beat wildly with happiness. He was posi¬ 
tive now that their little Ellen was in reality his uncle’s 
grandchild. He took out the picture and gave it to his uncle. 

“This,” he said, “is surely good proof that your grand¬ 
daughter is found. They are the mates to the ones you keep 
in the drawer of your desk. ’ ’ He went to the desk and brought 
the other pictures to the bedside and they compared them. 

The old man looked at them for some time — then fell 
back exhausted from the effort he had made to sit up while 
he compared the pictures. Too weak to speak, he closed his 
eyes and murmured a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessing, 

[ 2I 5] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


though it had come so near his life’s end. When he again 
opened his eyes he seemed so calm that Richard felt it was 
safe to continue the story: 

“Dear uncle,” he said slowly though his voice trembled 
as he spoke, “little Ellen for whom you have so long been 
searching has been well cared for and cherished as even you, 
yourself, could have done it,” and forthwith related all he 
knew of the Vernon disaster and how Ellen had formed part 
of his own family all these years and had endeared herself 
to all by her winsomeness and lovable character. 

The old man listened with almost painful eagerness to 
every word that fell from his nephew’s lips. Though not in 
any strict sense a religious man, his heart went out in gratitude 
to God. 

This good news that he has so long been yearning for — 
coming now at the close of his life — seems like a smile from 
heaven. 

“Uncle,” said Richard, “now that you have found your 
granddaughter it is your duty to change your will. It would 
be highly dishonorable on my part to make use of money 
belonging by right of birth to Ellen. Shall I send for your 
lawyer, uncle?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, no, no — by no means, ’ ’ Mr. Randolph cried firmly, 
as though new strength had suddenly been granted him. “For 
many reasons I would not have left all the money to the child 
even had I known her whereabouts — because great wealth is 
often a curse, especially to women. They are constantly the 
prey of fortune-hunters and few of them escape wretchedness 
when allied to men for whom money has been the magnet. In 
my former "will you will find that one-half of my wealth would 
have gone to your father or any of his family who survived 
him; the residue to the state with the exception of one million 
dollars which I left in trust with my attorney and executor in 
case the child lived to claim her legal right to the inheritance 

[216] 


ELLEN 


within twenty-five years of my death; otherwise, even that 
amount also, would have gone to your father or his heirs. 

“Now that I know you and your noble resolution to work 
in the interests of humanity — now that I know my grand¬ 
daughter has been for years a member of your family for 
whom you are so anxious to provide — in what better hands 
could I leave the disposal of my fortune ? And what better 
guardian could I wish for my grandchild?” 

The young man was not easily convinced and protested 
vehemently but Mr. Randolph was equally firm and would not 
change his view-point. 

“My son,” he said in a feeble voice, “there is but one 
thing left to make me happy before I die and that is the 
certainty that you will do as I have begged you. Make use 
of the money in the wisest way you know how. It will make 
my end a happy one indeed to be assured that you will carry 
out my wishes in the matter and with your generous, noble 
heart, will remedy the evil I have done in my earlier days. 
You will feed those I have allowed to go hungry — and clothe 
those I have let go naked. I implore you, my son,” he said 
in an anxious tone, “promise me you will comply with my 
last wishes.’ ’ 

Before Richard could reply Florence entered the room, 
bearing a cup of warm milk, the only nourishment the ailing 
man could now take. She lighted up the room — saw to it that 
all was comfortable for the invalid and then remained stand¬ 
ing near the sick bed, gazing at its occupant with anxious 
affection in her scrutiny. He turned his head to look at the 
beautiful girl and smiled tenderly into her eyes. Her presence 
invariably acted as an exhilarating, bracing influence upon 
him. 

“Come and sit beside me, my child,” he said in weak but 
tender accents. 

Florence stepped lightly up and seated herself beside the 

[ 2I 7] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


bed. Mr. Randolph with difficulty reached out and taking her 
hand placed it within Richard’s. The hearts of the lovers 
thrilled with ecstacy. It was, then, the dying man’s wish that 
they should be united, but both simultaneously realized the 
necessity of consigning their own personal emotions into the 
background. The invalid, himself, demanded their instant 
consideration and with simply an exchange of glances replete 
with adoration and happiness, they resigned their own joy 
for the time being to oblivion. 

The old man’s strength was now fast ebbing away, suc¬ 
ceeding the influx of increased energy that had made itself 
apparent when he had heard the tidings of his grandchild. 
That temporary and deceptive increase of strength had kindled 
a gleam of hope in the hearts of the two watchers, that he 
might yet be spared to them a while longer, but the new rapid 
loss of strength again filled them with despair, the more so 
when they perceived him begin to struggle for breath. 

Turning imploringly toward the window, as if for air, the 
dying man gave one long gasp, made one last mighty effort 
to live, and then his muscles relaxed. His head fell back and 
death had claimed the body. 

A week after his uncle’s funeral Richard called together 
the servants and acquainted them with the news that Mr. 
Randolph had, in his will, provided for the material comfort 
of them all with a sum sufficient to procure their freedom from 
any want for the remainder of their lives. Then thanking them 
for the faithful performance of their duties, he discharged 
them from further service. It was his intention to close up 
the mansion for the present. 

The housekeeper only was to remain until the following 
day when he should take Florence to his mother. 

The thought of so soon having to part with his loved one 
filled his entire being with pain and regret. He wandered 


ELLEN 


restlessly from room to room, trying to subdue the emotions 
that surged from the depths of his heart. 

How colorless the days would be, he thought, without even 
a glance at the dear face, or a word of love and cheer. As he 
went in search of her the great house seemed very quiet and 
deserted, and the echoes of his own footsteps filled his soul 
with a strange melancholy. 

He encountered Florence just as she was leaving her 
room. She was pale, yet so fair and sweet notwithstanding the 
unwonted pallor, that he could not control the longing to press 
her to his heart. Springing forward he caught her in his arms 
and covered her face with passionate kisses. In that moment 
he forgot the dead, and was conscious of the fact that they 
were alone. 

Her violent trembling brought him to himself. “My 
darling,” he cried, ‘‘have I frightened you? You are trem¬ 
bling. Forgive me, dearest, but it is so long since I held you in 
my arms, that I could not resist. ’ J 

Florence gave no reply, but he noticed the look of reproof 
that crept into her eyes and it made him flush with shame. 
He read her thoughts and said in a tone as calm as he could 
command. “Do not blame me, sweetheart. The thought of 
separation again has made me forget myself. I know this is 
not the time for me to show my feelings. Tomorrow we will 
go to Westwood where you will stay with mother until the 
greatest desire of my heart will be gratified and I can claim 
you for my wife.” He kissed the little hands which he held 
tight in his own. 

He spoke in such a sorrowful tone that it made her heart 
ache. She looked at him with the wonderful lovelight shining 
in her eyes and said in a sweet trembling voice, “I feel the 
pain of parting the same as you, Richard my dear, but we 
must be brave. Since we belong to each other and the hope 

[219] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


of being united some day shall be our inspiration and make 
us happy during the separation. ’ ’ 

He looked long and deep into her eyes with a passionate 
yearning. 

“Florence,” he said earnestly, “do you know what that 
means? If I take you home to mother and leave you there 
to go back to school, we shall be parted for a year and a half. ’ ’ 

“There are your vacations,” she said smiling bravely, “we 
shall surely see you then.” 

“No, my dear, I shall stay away until I have completed 
my studies, for parting with you each time would be worse 
than a long interval of not seeing you.” 

The clasp of his strong hand, the tone of his deep voice 
thrilled her with an unutterable happiness, and for a moment 
she too had forgotten the dead, she put her soft arms around 
his neck and pressed her sweet lips to his. 

The voluntary show of affection stirred him to the depth 
of his soul, and revealed to him the deep emotions of her 
brave and tender heart. 

“My darling,” he breathed, holding her close to him. 
‘‘How you have consoled me!” 


[220] 


CHAPTER XXIX 

t 

The Bunch of Violets 

O N the Saturday afternoon following Richard’s unex¬ 
pected visit to the cottage, Alice was sitting alone im¬ 
mersed in thought, far from bright and cheerful. Mrs. 
Randolph had gone to see a sick neighbor, and Ellen and 
Edgar had gone out hiking. 

These few weeks had wrought a great change in Alice. 
Her cheery nature had given way to a settled melancholy. 
Love had come to her unsought when her life was so cheerless 
and, having filled it with such a glory of light, without warn¬ 
ing the light had been cruelly withdrawn, and the darkness 
was now so deep that her very soul was shrouded in it. Not 
only love, but faith and hope were also dead. She sat this 
afternoon filled with a sense of unutterable loneliness. As the 
shadows deepened in the room, her thoughts became unbear¬ 
able and she sprang up and began to pace the floor, hoping to 
throw off her increasing heaviness by action. But she finally 
succumbed and, sitting down by the piano, she began to play 
and sing softly, a habit which she had adopted of late when¬ 
ever she wished to give expression to her melancholy feelings. 
Although she did not play on the grand instrument which was 
lost to her together with their fine home, nevertheless under 
the light touch of her slender fingers even the small upright 
told a tale of woe. Alice’s voice was not trained but its 
natural sweet quality harmonized in such a sympathetic tone 
with the piano, that it went straight to the heart of one who 
chanced to listen. The mournful sounds of the dying chords as 

[ 221 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


she ceased to play increased rather than lightened her de¬ 
pression and not being able to restrain any longer, she buried 
her face in her hands and gave way to a passionate flood of 
tears. 

The door opened and someone entered the room unper¬ 
ceived by Alice who had not heard the knock. A hand was 
laid on her shoulder and a voice full of tenderness and sym¬ 
pathy cried, “Alice.” 

She started up with a faint cry. There still lingered light 
enough for her to see that it was Dr. White who stood before 
her, and she drew back in as distant and haughty a manner 
as she could assume. 

When there had been no response to his ring of the bell 
and knock at the door, Dr. White had stopped and listened 
to the sad but sweet music that floated out to his ears, which 
told the pathetic story of a heart and soul crushed under the 
weight of sorrow. 

‘ ‘ She still grieves for Harold Locke, ’ ’ he thought, and his 
heart was torn with anguish. The pain he suffered as he 
thought of his own shattered hopes he bravely tried to over¬ 
come. Nothing was of much consequence now except that he 
knew that Alice was unhappy, and his heart and soul went out 
to her with sympathy and a longing to console her. At last 
he could no longer control his feelings, and, gently pushing 
the door which was unlatched he entered. 

“Why are you so sad tonight?” he asked holding out his 
hand. “Why these tears, pray let me ask?” he added as he 
saw her draw up her figure in quick restraint. 

‘ ‘ Good evening, Dr. White, ’ ’ she replied in a cold formal 
tone, without noticing his question and ignoring his hand. 

Her manner puzzled the young man, and after a moment’s 
silence, he said anxiously, “Has anything happened? Are all 
well?” 


[222] 


THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS 


“Yes, thank you, we are all well; will you be seated? 
Mother will soon be here.” 

Dr. White again broke the awkward silence by saying, 
“You are looking pale, Miss Randolph. I trust that you have 
made use of the car I left in the garage as I begged you to do 
in my note.” 

“Your note!” exclaimed Alice in surprise. 

“The note I sent you when I was summoned to Phila¬ 
delphia,” he replied. 

“I did not receive any note,” said Alice in a voice that 
trembled in spite of her effort to be calm. 

The young man then saw the cause of the girl’s coldness 
and said earnestly, “Alice, my first thought on receiving this 
summons was of you and I sent you a note explaining the 
cause of my absence. Also I told you the car was at your 
disposal during my absence from the city.” 

He had risen and she also stood. As he finished speaking, 
he stepped eagerly towards her. Alice raised her eyes and met 
his glance and her woman’s instinct told her what he would 
say. 

“Alice,” he cried in a voice tremulous with emotion, 
taking her hand in his own, ‘‘can you love me?” 

She turned her head away allowing her hand to rest in 
his although she made no reply. For a minute he was deceived 
and his voice trembled as he repeated his question. 

“Alice, can you love me, or do you still love him?” 

She looked at him in amazement. He responded to the 
look with the question that had been eating his heart out, 
‘‘Tell me, Alice, do you care for Harold Locke?” 

“Why do you ask me this, Dr. White? What ever sug¬ 
gested such a question?” 

“Because I met Harold Locke in Philadelphia the day 
after I left Westwood and he spoke of his once having been 
engaged to you. I have been mad with jealous love ever 

[223] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


since. Alice, I love you with all the strength of my heart and 
when that man told me that you had been his promised wife 
— the fear that you might still love him made a coward of me 
and I have not dared to speak to you — until the suspense 
having become unbearable, I have come to know my fate — 
answer me, dearest, do you care for him?” and he bent his 
handsome head towards her while his eyes demanded the 
truth. 

Alice smiled happily as she replied, “Mr. Locke once upon 
a time greatly annoyed me by sending a written proposal of 
marriage to which I made no reply. But at that time I was a 
rich man’s daughter. I had almost forgotten that he exists •— 
I never loved nor even respected him.” Her tones were 
scornful and the young man knew that she had spoken*the 
truth. His lips quivered as he put the question, “Will you be 
my wife, Alice ? Do you not know that I loved you when you 
were a little golden-haired child? Can you not remember 
me?” and he looked wistfully into her startled eyes. 

As she stood gazing at him with parted lips, he drew 
from his breast pocket a leather case from which he took a 
bunch of faded violets tied with a bit of blue ribbon. She 
started and her thoughts sped back over the years to a day in 
the woods. She recalled her mother’s reproof as she had run 
into the house with her curls flying in confusion about her 
flushed face, for she had given the violets, tied with her hair 
ribbon, to Henry White. 

“Oh,” she cried with a catch in her voice. “Why didn’t 
I know you? You are Henry and you have come back!” she 
had almost said, “to me”—but stopped and her head dropped 
in confusion. 

“Yes, dearest,” he whispered softly as he took her in his 
arms, “I have come back to you. You did not grow angry 
when I called you my ‘Little Sweetheart’ in the old days. 

[224] 


THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS 


The name has a new meaning now — will you let me call you 
my sweetheart-wife ? ’’ 

He raised her flushed face and scanned it eagerly. The 
love-filled eyes gave hack their answer and he was content. 
He drew her close to him and pressed passionate kisses upon 
the trembling lips —‘ ‘ At last, dear, you are mine, ’ ’ he 
breathed. 

A deep silence fell over them broken only by the ticking 
of the small clock on the mantel. When he gently released her, 
he told her of the reasons for his hasty leaving, and she con¬ 
fessed her great disappointment when he had failed to come 
or write. Time flew as they talked as lovers will. The twilight 
fell, but they did not realize for some time that they were 
sitting there in the dark — for a shining glow of happiness 
banished all shadows from them. 

When Mrs. Randolph returned and saw the lovelight in 
their eyes her fair face beamed with joy. After tea was served 
Alice was glad to escape for a moment on some trifling errand. 
Dr. White seized this opportunity to tell Mrs. Randolph of 
his love for Alice and also to reveal his identity. When he at 
last left the cottage his heart was very light and he walked 
with the proud step of the man who knows himself beloved by 
the one woman in the world for him. 


[225] 


CHAPTER 


The Surprise 

T HREE WEEKS had elapsed since Dr. Drake paid his 
last visit to the cottage, so he thought it was about time 
he looked in once more upon his friends. About a week 
after the happy day when Alice had promised herself to her 
old playfellow, Henry White, she had been relieved of her 
school duties. 

It had been the habit of good Dr. Drake to call on the 
Randolphs once a week. In reply to Alice’s query as to the 
cause that had kept him away for such an unwonted interval 
of time, he made a characteristic reply. 

“The coal strike, confound it! has brought much sick¬ 
ness into the neighborhood. I have been kept busy day and 
night. But God bless me!” he cried cheerfully as he gazed 
searchingly at Alice; “What can be the matter with you? 
has the medicine I left worked such a wonderful cure? Let 
me have a good look at you,” and taking her good-humoredly 
by the shoulders, he turned her around. “Why, child,” he 
said, “I never would have known you, — and what rosy 
cheeks you have ! I never knew those iron pills to work such 
wonders before,” and pinching her cheeks, he added, “Don’t 
be laughing at me, you mischief!” 

Mrs. Randolph, who was busy preparing dinner, came in 
at that moment and, judging by the doctor’s manner and the 
merry twinkle in his eyes, she felt sure that he must have 
some very good news for them, and she was not kept long 
in suspense. 


[226] 


THE SURPRISE 


“What do you think of going to live in your old home 
again?” he asked triumphantly. 

“Going to live there!” exclaimed the two women in¬ 
credulously. 

“Yes to live there.” 

“But how!” protested Mrs. Randolph,“ you know our 
circumstances. ’ ’ 

“Well what of it? You would rather live there than in 
the cottage.” 

“Oh please, doctor,” said Alice, “don’t you jest with 
us now. Tell us what you mean. ” 

“Well you see I heard that the estate was for sale, for 
the party who purchased it has succeeded to a title and will 
live in England. As soon as I learned this I went over to 
see him and we closed the bargain.” 

“But how!” they asked again in surprise, “where did 
you get the money?’” 

“It was with your money that I bought your old home 
back again.” 

‘ ‘ Our money! Dr. Drake, you are not making fun of us 
in such a serious matter, are you?” broke in Alice in rather 
a hurt tone. 

“If you will give me a chance to speak, you saucy imp, 
you will see that I am not. I have never been more serious 
than I am now. You no doubt remember that your father 
had a lot of money outstanding and if it had been collected 
at that time when the mortgage was foreclosed there would 
have been more than enough to pay the debts. Well as soon 
as I heard that the estate was in the market for selling, I 
began to dunn the clients by sending them notices that unless 
bills will be payed within thirty days we should proceed to 
collect according to law. It was taking a chance but it 
worked wonders and it was the only way to wake up people 
who were slow payers, and by Jove the checks certainly 

[227] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


began pouring in. In the meantime I received a notice from 
the bank commissioner, Mr. Harris, that the Mutual Trust 
Company is to pay a twenty per cent dividend on the in¬ 
vestments of the shareholders. I lost no time in filing our 
claim against the bank. This added to the amount I received 
from your father’s debtors was almost sufficient to buy back 
the estate, with the exception of a few thousands which 
Henry advanced, and the old home is yours again.” 

“Oh, Dr. Drake,” cried Alice in a voice which showed 
great excitement and heart-felt gratitude. “How can we 
ever repay you for all that you have done for us.” 

“We only get what we give Alice,” said Dr. Drake 
with feelings. “It is a fair exchange of true friendship.” 

Mrs. Randolph was silent during the latter part of the 
conversation. Tears of joy were streaming down her wan 
cheeks. She was so overcome, so overjoyed, at the good 
news, that she was utterly deprived of words. 

“By the way you saucy imp,” he added looking at 
Alice with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “The money Henry 
advanced, he intends to give to you as a wedding gift. But 
if he knew that I told you he would shoot me dead.” 

Alice looked up quickly in surprise, her face scarlet. 

“Aha,” he added teasingly, “thought I was goose 
enough to believe those iron pills had wrought this change, 
did you? Henry made me his confidant. Oh, I know the 
matter; we old fellows have had some experience too in the 
affairs of the heart. I’ll wager that the scamp never told 
you that I saw him before he came to you.” 

“Did you really?” asked Alice in surprise. “I had 
understood him to say that he came direct from the depot 
here without making a stop.” 

“Aha! He did say so, hey? Well, Miss Inquisitive, I 
suppose I shall be obliged to tell you how it happened that I 
did see him before you did, and that too, without in the least 

[228] 


THE SURPRISE 


disproving liis statement. It was this way,” and as he spoke 
he struck a match on the sole of his boot and lit his pipe, 
took a few puffs before proceeding. 

“It was this way,” he repeated, “One of my patients, a 
very charming young lady, suffered severely with a com¬ 
plaint I recognized at once to be a species of heart trouble. 
All of my efforts to effect a cure proving quite unavailing, 
I determined to take a flying trip to Philadelphia and con¬ 
sult the famous Dr. White. It was seven o’clock in the 
morning when I arrived at his office, drenched and dripping 
with rain. I hate damp weather for it always brings the 
rheumatism to my limbs.” 

“Didn’t you have an umbrella, doctor?” asked Alice 
in a tone that betrayed suspicion of a lurking mock- 
sympathy. 

“No, I didn’t. You see I am of the old fashioned type, and 
a mite superstitious too; so rather than turn back for the 
umbrella which I had clean forgotten, and risk the possi¬ 
bility of having to forego my trip — for you know that’s 
what they say is apt to happen — I concluded to proceed 
without it, trusting to luck to keep the sky blue.” 

“Well, you know the disagreeable way the weather has 
of changing for the worse when you are the least prepared 
for it; it proved no exception that day, and it poured pitch- 
forks. 

“As I was saying,” and again he lighted his pipe 
without any apparent need for it, however, “Where did I 
leave off? Oh yes, as I was saying, it was seven o’clock in 
the morning when I reached the doctor’s office. He was 
still asleep, I was informed by his housekeeper. Would I 
wait? I was pretty sure I would, so I at once settled myself 
in a comfortable easy chair near the fire-place and took a 
glance or two around the room. Let me tell you, my dear, 
modern doctors know a thing or two about solid comfort, but 

[229] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


I’ll be hanged if they understand a jot about style. What 
do they mean by their fancy pillow show! a regular depart¬ 
ment store there upon my word. I nearly stumbled over a 
half dozen or so of the pesky, useless things lying on the 
floor and on the chairs, and there were mountains of them 
seemingly in other parts of the room.” 

It was no easy task to listen attentively to and follow 
the good man’s irrelevant prattle, but Alice contrived to do 
so, maintaining a very sober mien, accentuated in expression 
somewhat by her endeavor to make no display of the amuse¬ 
ment the doctor’s little amusing witticisms, with their accom¬ 
panying facial expressions and expletives, provoked. Mrs. 
Randolph, too, though heart and soul were yearning for 
further details of the approaching possession of their fine 
old home, managed to display some interest in the numerous 
detailed impressions to his story. 

When the ladies had been informed of other various 
details appertaining to the room’s merits as comfortable 
quarters, the doctor paused again for breath and then re¬ 
sumed his favorite introductory query. 

“Where did I leave off? Oh, yes, as I was saying, I was 
sitting comfortably near the fire, smoking a choice Havana I 
had discovered on the doctor’s desk. That desk was a two¬ 
fold pleasure for I found it offered me agreeable company as 
well as cigars; there was, ’ ’ and he placed undue emphasis on 
the words, “in a pretty gold frame, the picture of a charming 
little maiden whose eyes seemed to say to me, ‘I know you!’ 
and I had no doubt of the statement for the face was very 
familiar. Well, well,— what is the matter now?” he asked 
for Alice had suddenly drawn closer and stolen her arms 
around his neck. 

“Nothing, dear doctor, only I love to listen to you.” 

“You do, do you? And I am your ‘dear doctor’ am I? I 
have no recollection of your addressing me in such terms when 

[230] 


THE SURPRISE 


I brought you those pills,” he declared and a loving pinch 
accompanied the digression. 

“Well, as I was saying, it was seven in the morning and 
I was sitting in the—” 

“Yes, yes, but do tell us the rest — what happened after¬ 
ward you know — please do ! ” interrupted a pleading voice 
showing suspicious signs of suppressed mirth. 

“Upon my word, Alice, you minx, I never knew you to 
be such an impatient young lady. As I was saying, I was com¬ 
fortably settled in that easy chair and in such good company 
and that cigar was so good the time passed very rapidly and 
pretty soon in stepped the famous physician to see who the 
sufferer was that had come to disturb him so early. Good 
gracious, girl,” ejaculated the doctor, “you’ll surely choke 
me if you squeeze me like that.” 

* 1 There, there ! ’ ’ laughed Alice. * ‘ I wont do it any more 
but do hurry and tell us quickly what happened when he 
saw you.” 

“You should have seen his eyes — they looked as big as 
saucers — ready to leave their sockets, in fact. I was racking 
my brains for a remedy when — bless us girl, when did you 
develop that laugh? Upon my soul I haven’t heard you laugh 
like that for a long time,” he said, while his eyes twinkled 
with merriment. “I do believe I’d rather listen to your 
laughter than hear myself talk.” 

“No, no, no! Do tell us more about your visit to Phila¬ 
delphia. Please — it is so interesting.” 

“Well, there’s nothing more to tell except that after I 
had had a few words with the renowned Dr. White, I dis¬ 
covered that he, too, was afflicted with the identical disease 
from which my patient suffered. So — well I asked him if he 
would not come out to Westwood and sympathize with his 
fellow sufferer.” 


[23 j ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Then,” said Alice saucily, “I presume I am to give 
thanks to yon entirely — for him. ’ ’ 

11 So you should, Miss Saucebox, for the fellow had almost 
abandoned hope when I discovered his case. He did not think 
he could possibly win your affection — he was certain that you 
were too good for him—you know what the sighing lovers 
sing. I told him the best thing to do was to try his luck and 
when I studied his face on his return from your house the 
other day, I knew pretty well that he had followed my advice 
— and with some degree of success, too, apparently.” 

It was some time before the good man could get away 
from the grateful women although he would say nothing more 
in detail about the recovery of their old home, except that it 
was theirs and they should occupy it again soon. 

“Bless my soul,” he suddenly exclaimed, looking at his 
watch, “how time flies! I must be off. Laura wants you to 
come over to the house this afternoon for tea. She has got 
hold of a new recipe for cake and wants to experiment on 
you, I guess,” and he went away laughing. 

Two hours later a touring car stood in front of the door 
for the purpose of conveying the entire Randolph family to 
the doctor’s house. 

“Mother,” cried Alice excitedly, as she noted the chauf¬ 
feur from the window, “there is good old Brown!” 

Sure enough, the faithful old servant stood before them, 
his kind, wrinkled face beaming with joy. 

“Oh, Brown,” cried Alice in happy surprise, “how do 
you happen to be here ? I thought you had gone to live with 
your sister in the south. ’ ’ 

“So I had, Miss,” he replied, “but I got a letter from 
Dr. Drake to come and take up my old duties as chauffeur 
again, and here I am.” 

Tears gathered in Alice’s eyes as she exclaimed, “The 
dear, dear, kind friend. ’ ’ 


[232] 


THE SURPRISE 


Another surprise awaited them when they arrived at the 
doctor’s house — Ann, the cook, dressed in her usual style 
with a white apron and cap was busy setting the table upon 
which she was placing all kinds of dishes — delicacies which 
she knew used to be relished by the Randolph family. It 
was a joyful, yet pathetic meeting between the Randolphs 
and their old faithful servants. As they were about to sit 
down at the table the bell rang. 

“By Jove!” cried Dr. Drake, “if any one takes a notion 
to get sick tonight, I shall be tempted to let him die.” 

However the ferocious expression on his kindly face 
gave place to one of extreme pleasure as he saw that the 
newcomers were Richard and Florence. 

“You needn’t look so surprised,” cried Richard gaily 
as their questioning eyes fell upon them. “We went to the 
cottage and found it dark and bolted, so we thought of 
coming here. We’re a day sooner than my letter led you 
to expect,” he added turning to his mother. Mrs. Randolph 
folded Florence to her heart in such a motherly embrace 
that the girl felt instantly at home, and Alice and Mrs. 
Drake greeted her affectionately. 

Never was there a happier group gathered around a 
tea-table. Never so many questions and answers — so much 
teasing and laughter. Finally the ladies retired to have some 
music and the doctor invited the young men into his private 
office for a smoke. This was a cozy little room, but Henry 
excused himself, preferring to hear Alice play as he did not 
care to discuss politics which he knew to be his uncle’s 
delight w T hen indulging in a smoke. Richard, who also 
wished to join the ladies vainly pleaded that he did not smoke. 

“Then you may do the talking while I smoke,” declared 
the Doctor, determined not to be cheated out of his enjoy¬ 
ment — Richard gracefully yielded. 

[233] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


As soon as they entered the office, Dr. Drake threw him¬ 
self into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief — for an 
opportunity to rest was a great luxury to the busy man. 
Despite his cheerful manner, his face looked pale and worn 
in the light. Richard’s quick eye noted the change in 
the good man’s look and he could not help remarking upon 
it “You look very tired, Doctor, have you been working 
very hard of late?” 

“Working hard!” exclaimed the Doctor with extreme 
bitterness, “I have not had a moment’s rest during the entire 
winter. I have had a greater number of pneumonia cases in 
the last few months than in my whole thirty years’ practice 
—and many many deaths, too. Great Heavens, I fear if it 
continues, I shall join the death-march myself ere long.” 

“What is the cause of so much sickness this winter?” 
asked Richard. 

“The lack of fuel is the root of all misery. By thunder! 
if I had authority, I would strangle those who are respon¬ 
sible for this state of affairs.” 

“Who do you think is responsible for such conditions?” 
asked Richard. 

“Hang it, if I know who is to be blamed the most! If I 
did know and was in a position to deal with them, I would 
show no mercy.” 

“If you give the matter careful consideration, Doctor, 
it will not take you long to learn that no one in particular 
is to be blamed for the grave situation which has existed 
and is existing and will exist — until the people begin to 
think intelligently how to remedy industrial trouble. In my 
way of thinking, all that is necessary is sound judgment 
and good management.” 

“Perhaps you are right, Richard,” said Dr. Drake, 
thoughtfully, “I really have no time to make a study of this 

[ 2 34 ] 


THE SURPRISE 


question. I have been too busy with its results, but one 
thing I know, and that is, the longer I live, the more thor¬ 
oughly am I convinced that it is the natural discontent in 
human nature that is the source of most of the suffering in 
the world.” 

“Discontent and happiness sometimes go hand in hand,” 
replied Richard, “one can enjoy domestic happiness, and yet 
be dissatisfied with public affairs. You know there is what 
is called 1 divine discontent’.” 

“Ah, I know what you are after; you want me to say 
that I do not approve of the present conditions of affairs 
under which the coal strikes or any other strikes are possible. 
I will admit that I do not approve of it, but can you name a 
remedy that will cure the disease?” 

“How natural it is for doctors to speak of disease and 
remedies,” said Richard jokingly. “You can call the pres¬ 
ent conditions of affairs a disease and in one sense of the 
word it is, but do not fancy that pills and powders can cure 
it.” 

The doctor laughed heartily, but became very interested 
as Richard continued; “The application of a spirit of justice 
and an intelligent regard for the rights of others is the only 
remedy for this industrial evil.” 

“I hope you don’t approve of strikes, Richard. It seems 
nowadays one hears of little else in the industrial world.” 

“No doctor; I very seriously oppose strikes, they are a 
questionable remedy for labor trouble, and I earnestly hope 
there may be no necessity for them in the near future. They 
frequently cause great suffering to the working man and to 
the public at large. Yet these strikes are sometimes serving 
a valuable purpose in causing the people to realize the 
seriousness of present conditions. ’ ’ 

“Judging by your words I am almost inclined to be¬ 
lieve what I read in the papers about you.” 

[ 2 35 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“And what was that?” demanded Richard, rather 
amused at the doctor’s grave expression. 

“Oh they write some strange things about you. I hope 
it is not true that you have become an anarchist, or socialist, 
— or — I don’t recall of what other crimes they accuse 
you.” 

Richard laughed outright. “Is that all, doctor?” he 
said, “I thought I had been accused of some really serious 
misdemeanor, something I should be ashamed of. Rest 
assured, dear friend, I am not going astray. Take any man 
who is capable of thinking for himself and attempts to give 
utterance to his thoughts, and his belief in regard to human 
progress is and always has been called by rather peculiar 
names. I am confident that my efforts to plead the cause of 
the working class are good, and if it pleases the world to 
apply certain names to my ideas, it is welcome to do so.” 

“So you really don’t care about public opinion, Richard? 
Well, well, I should think you would not relish being accused 
of what might be deemed a grave fault, in the opinion of 
those with whom you, as a man of great wealth, will mingle 
in the future,” said Dr. Drake with marked seriousness of 
tone, which a noticeable twinkle in his smiling eyes seemed 
to contradict. The fact was that he urged Richard to speak 
on this subject for the sake of testing the young man’s sin¬ 
cerity, rather than for any needed enlightenment or for 
satisfying curiosity. “I don’t wonder that when the papers 
speak of you they drop your real name and speak of the 
radical millionaire.” 

“I don’t mind being accused of anything that is likely 
to affect my reputation as a millionaire. Charges that bear 
upon my standing as a man of wealth, that do not touch my 
honor as a man, can have but little weight with me,” said 
Richard with simple directness. 

“Well, well, I always was of the opinion that only the poor 

[236] 


THE SURPRISE 


devils bother their heads about the labor and capital ques¬ 
tion. What puzzles me is that a rich young man, such as 
you are now, should take a lively interest in those things!” 

“Rich or poor,” replied Richard, “God is my judge 
that I feel for the human race and seek but the final good 
of all. One can not be truly happy in one’s prosperity 
knowing that others suffer want; therefore I aim to devote 
my life and time to the cause of righteousness.” 

Dr. Drake threw aside his pipe and rising, grasped the 
young man’s hand firmly in his own as he said in a deep 
appreciative tone, “I have never heard any man speak with 
more heartfelt sincerity than you, my boy, and I feel con¬ 
vinced that despite your millions, you will always remain a 
friend to the poor and oppressed. And I am mighty glad 
of it. If the world had more men like you I have no 
doubt that the coming generation would represent a condi¬ 
tion of affairs quite different from that of today.” 

“Let us hope that they will,” echoed Richard. “And it 
is such men as you that hasten the coming improvement. 
The compliment you offered me, must necessarily be applied 
to you. If the world possessed a few more such generous 
noble souls as you; dear friend, how much suffering would 
be obviated.” And regardless of the doctor’s protestations 
Richard continued the theme he could not but be eloquent 
upon — the kind man’s noble conduct toward his family 
when in trouble. Again and again he gave grateful thanks 
to the true friend for his many unselfish services, nor could 
the doctor stop him until he had finished. 

Then their conversation turned to the time of the death 
of Richard’s father, and of all the suffering of his family 
attendant upon his return to the law school. 

The young man’s composure gave way and his eyes 
became misty as his listened to the pitiful details the doctor 

[237] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


related to him. His heart was torn with grief when he 
heard of Alice’s courage and her noble sacrifices. 

“God bless her — the dear brave girl!” he murmured. 

Dr. Drake was deeply moved, and could with difficulty 
conceal his own feelings. He knew that sorrow and joy 
were both mingled in the young man’s emotions — sorrow 
for the unhappy past, joy for the bright future to supplant 
its terrors. 

“Let us be thankful it is all over,” said the good man, 
furtively wiping his eyes. 

“Yes, it is all over, thank God.” said Richard fervently. 

Henry entered at that moment and they all adjourned 
to the parlor, where the ladies were waiting to go home. 

Richard was at a loss to account for the significant 
glance Dr. Drake exchanged with Henry, and for the mis¬ 
chievous smile with which Henry responded to it. But he 
learned later in the evening what had caused this exchange 
of signals. 


[238] 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Overwrought Hearts 

T HE PARTY in the automobile was too busy with merry 
talk and happy laughter to notice that they were not being 
driven towards the cottage but in quite another direction 
and that they were being followed. There were loud exclama¬ 
tions of surprise when the ear stopped before the entrance to 
their beautiful former home, which was brilliantly illumi¬ 
nated. 

They had scarcely alighted, when the doors were thrown 
open and all the old, faithful servants came forward to greet 
them, singing a hymn of thanksgiving, which had been re¬ 
hearsed for this occasion. 

This happy and unexpected change was almost too much 
for the overwrought hearts of the Randolph family. For 
several minutes sobs of joy and exclamations of delight were 
heard. Dr. and Mrs. Drake with Dr. White soon arrived and 
Alice ran to the old man and embraced him, sobbing like a 
child for she knew he was the instigator of the joyful surprise. 
The tears were raining down his cheeks, “God bless you,” 
was all he could say, for he was almost choked with his happi¬ 
ness. 

As soon as they became calm, Henry proposed that they 
make a tour of the old home. He knew what added joy was in 
store for the Randolphs, for he, with his uncle and aunt, had 
been very busy going and coming for a whole week, arranging 
and restoring things to their original places. Indeed it was a 
most exciting inspection as they went through all the rooms. 

[239] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


The things the family valued most, stood in their former 
places — even the costly plants were there. 

As they entered the drawing room, they were again sur¬ 
prised— there in a corner stood the grand piano for which 
Alice had grieved as for a long-lost friend. A card attached to 
the case was plainly inscribed: “ A wedding gift to Alice from 
Dr. and Mrs. Drake.” Alice realized that these good people 
must' have sacrificed a large share of their savings in its 
purchase at the time that their household furniture was sold 
with their home. Filled with gratitude for their generous 
thoughfulness, she first ran to Mrs. Drake and hugged and 
kissed her affectionately; then she went to Dr. Drake again 
and placed her arms around his neck, kissing him fervently, 
as she exclaimed, “Oh, you dear, kind friends!” 

“Oh, I see, ” said Dr. Drake, “Henry is not looking, 
that is whjr you are kissing me — it won’t do to tell him, 
will it?” 

“If the piano is out of tune, Alice,” he continued, “blame 
him —not me. I told that absent-mined lover of yours to get 
a piano tuner this morning — but there is only room in his 
head for one object — the girl he loves. You doubtless think 
as all pretty girls do, that you are blessed with a particularly 
devoted adorer, but such forgetfulness as he has shown in 
this matter, brands him as a most hopeless criminal — my 
word for it.” 

Henry had overheard his uncle’s last remark and chal¬ 
lenged him to a duel — which Dr. Drake accepted with much 
dignity. Alice, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, mer¬ 
rily endeavored to make peace between them at the cost of 
a promise that she would play for them. 

Another quarrel quite as serious became imminent between 
the three gentlemen later in the evening in the discussion of 
certain plans for the future. Richard insisted that Dr. Drake 
should accept the sum which he had advanced for the repair of 

[240] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


the cottage and in the purchase of the Randolph’s household 
effects, for the secret of the good man’s anxiety to be present 
at the time of the sale of the mansion was now known to all. 
His refusal to accept the money caused a long dispute, but in 
the end he triumphed. When asked, however, to retire from 
his professional work and settle with his wife in the beautiful 
home of the Randolphs, he gladly assented. To live under the 
same roof with Henry and his favorite, Alice, seemed to the 
good doctor like dwelling quite near heaven. 

Richard had also made an attack upon Henry. “The 
Westwood Estate,” he said half in earnest, but half laughing, 
“has been in the Randolph family so long it ought to belong 
entirely to them now and not in partnerships, ’ ’ and he begged 
Henry to permit him to pay the balance which he had ad¬ 
vanced in buying back their home. But Henry was obstinate 
and declared that the amount he had advanced was a gift to 
Alice and ‘ since she is a Randolph ’ it could make no difference 
in the ownership of the estate. 

“Richard what are you going to do with your uncle’s 
mansion in New York?” asked Dr. Drake. 

“It is to be turned into an orphan asylum,” Richard 
replied. “Florence became very much interested in taking 
care of children and is donating the money which she received 
from the sale of her Westwood home towards making such an 
institution an established succeess. The other day,” he con¬ 
tinued—purposely avoiding the reproachful look in Florence’s 
eyes, “she told me she wished she had something to do, and 
when I asked her what occupation she would like to pursue, 
she replied, ‘taking care of little ones’.” A gale of merry 
laughter greeted this remark and in vain Florence tried to 
hide her blushing face behind Alice’s back but mischievous 
Alice moved aside. She was so frequently being teased herself 
she enjoyed immensely seeing her friend Florence having a 
share of it. 


[24i] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“I am glad, Florence/’ she said, “that there are two of 
us now to battle against these horrid men,” and as she spoke 
she made a face at Dr. Drake — he was her greatest tormentor. 

“Just wait, you chatterbox,” said the old gentleman, 
“you will not escape me any more now than you have ever 
done.” 

Edgar’s education was to be continued at home until he 
was prepared to enter college. 

They did not forget to make plans for kind-hearted Mrs. 
Murphy and her son; he was to continue school and be given 
an opportunity for a college education. The little cottage was 
to be their future home. 

There was cause for another dispute between Richard and 
Henry as to which of them had the better right to provide 
for these kind people — Henry claimed that he felt he was 
indebted to them for life because it was through their kind¬ 
ness to Edgar that he had had the good fortune that had 
brought him to Alice much sooner than he had ever allowed 
himself to hope. 

It was Richard’s turn to be obstinate — he claimed he 
was even more indebted to them than Henry because it was 
through their good-heartedness and Henry’s skill that his 
brother’s life was saved. 

In the end Richard triumphed. With these matters satis¬ 
factorily arranged, the party was about to retire when Richard 
asked suddenly, “Mother, wdiere is Ellen?” 

“Oh, yes, where is Ellen?” asked Alice, “we seem to have 
forgotten her.” 

“Ellen retired some time ago,” Mrs. Randolph replied 
quietly. “You know my rules about late hours for children,” 
yet as she spoke she looked inquiringly at her son. 

“Yes, I have good reason to remember,” laughed Richard. 
Then with altered tone he added, ‘ * and I am glad you did not 

[242] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


break the rule tonight for I have something of importance to 
tell yon regarding her parentage.” 

All of them looked at Richard in surprise. 

Taking from his breast pocket several pictures, he ad¬ 
dressed his mother, “Could you recognize this picture, 
mother ?’ 9 

“Yes, it is of Ellen when she was a baby and her parents 
— the ones I sent you a few days ago. ’ ’ 

“And these?” continued Richard holding up the dupli¬ 
cates which he had found in his uncle’s desk. 

“Why they are just the same. Where did you get them?” 
she asked in surprise. 

“I will tell you later, mother dear, but first I must ask 
you a few questions. Did father ever make any attempt to find 
out if Ellen had any relatives or friends who could be inter¬ 
ested in her whereabouts?” 

“Yes. Your father thought if the child had anyone 
belonging to her, they should know where to find her — al¬ 
though he never w T ould have parted with her unless the claim 
was a legal one — but the only clue we ever had was a post- 
office address which the nurse gave us and your father spent a 
lot of time trying to locate someone at that address. He was 
unsuccessful and so finally decided to abandon the search 
thinking if there was anyone very much interested in the child, 
they would find a way of tracing her whereabouts.” 

Richard thought deeply for a moment — then he asked, 
“Mother, did you ever meet Uncle Charles, or have you ever 
seen a photograph of him?” 

“No,” replied Mrs. Randolph looking inquiringly at her 
son. “I never met your uncle nor have I ever seen his picture 
for I think your father did not have one of his except the one 
hanging in the library which was painted when he was a 
young boy. But, my son, why all these questions ? ’ ’ 

“Well you see, mother dear, I had to put these questions 

[ 2 43 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


to you in order to ascertain a very important fact. The truth 
is — and not a shadow of a doubt of it now exists — that 
Ellen’s grandfather and Uncle Charles, are one and the 
same.” 

A cry of astonishment broke from the lips of the listeners. 

Then Richard related the story of his uncle’s marriage 
to the miner’s daughter, omitting, however, parts needless and 
inexpedient for them to know. It was understood that Charles 
Randolph had married the girl secretly and that Mrs. Vernon 
was their daughter. It was also known that Charles adopted 
his wife’s maiden name of Miller, for his daughter — and that 
her letters to him were always addressed to his lawyer who 
was cognizant of the secret. In this way Mrs. Vernon was in 
total ignorance of her real name and hence never suspected 
that she was related to the Randolphs. 

It was agreed that Ellen should not be told the truth 
until she was older and better able to comprehend its signi¬ 
ficance. 

Richard then read to them his uncle’s will in which he 
stated than he, Richard Randolph, was sole heir to his uncle’s 
estate with the exception of the generous bequest of one million 
dollars to his grandchild, Ellen, whose guardian Richard was 
to be. 

“Poor, dear uncle,” exclaimed Alice while her tears 
flowed freely as Richard ended. “It must have been such a 
lonely life for him to lead with no one to love and comfort 
him. And doesn’t it read like a book?” she added. “To think 
that during all these years we had not the faintest idea that 
Ellen is our cousin! Think of it! ” 

“Yes it is a strange story,” exclaimed Dr. Drake. “Who 
would have dreamed that the little orphan whom the noble 
mistress of this house has loved and reared as her own, should 
turn out in reality to be one of the family — joined by ties of 
blood-relationship! ’ ’ 


[ 2 44 ] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


1 1 And brought up as a Randolph,’ ’ added Richard 
proudly, and as he spoke he bent and kissed his mother’s 
white brow. Mrs. Randolph’s face was a study as she returned 
her son’s caress. 

‘‘ My dear, ’ ’ she said, ‘ 1 1 am rewarded for the little pains 
I have taken to make Ellen a worthy Randolph — for the dear 
child is a great blessing and has been such a comfort to us.” 

4 ‘ By the way, ’ ’ broke in Richard, ‘ ‘ I have left out a most 
interesting chapter of the story.” 

“What is it, Dick?” asked Alice all eagerness to hear 
more. 

“You did not guess, Pussy, that the little cottage you 
raved so much about in your letters to me, belonged to Uncle 
Charles.” Again a cry of astonishment broke from his 
listeners. 

‘ ‘ How stupid of me not to have guessed it before, ’ ’ cried 
Alice. 

Mrs. Randolph remarked, “If we had known the cottage 
belonged to Ellen’s grandfather, there would have been no 
need of my hunting up the real estate man to get the keys. 
We could have used the ones the nurse gave me to day she 
brought Ellen to us.” 

“But Mr. Randolph’s lawyer probably had the lock and 
key changed after he had found the house deserted,” an¬ 
swered Dr. White. “Lawyers are very sharp about such mat¬ 
ters,” nudging his uncle, Dr. Drake, and at the same time 
looking meaningly at Richard. 

Richard took this insinuation regarding his chosen profes¬ 
sion indifferently, being quite used to Henry’s way of clashing 
with words. 

“I wish that we had had the opportunity of knowing 
Uncle Charles,” said Alice sorrowfully. 

‘ ‘ Here is a picture of him, Pussy, ’ ’ said Richard, holding 
it up for everybody to see. 


[ 245 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


Mrs. Randolph looked at it closely for a moment and then 
exclaimed, “Why, Richard, there is a photograph just like 
it among the things that belong to Ellen. It is strange that 
your father did not surmise it was a picture of his own 
brother. ’ ’ 

“Father had not seen Uncle Charles since they parted at 
college and this was taken many years later. Therefore it is 
no wonder he did not recognize the one Ellen had.” 

“Dick,” said Alice, “to whom does the cottage belong 
now ? ’ ’ 

“Everything that Uncle Charles left rightfully belongs 
to Ellen but Uncle Charles was anxious that I should carry 
out his wishes according to his will, therefore I have to abide 
by it and declare myself the owner of the cottage too.” 

“While you speak of what rightfully belongs to Ellen,” 
said Mrs. Randolph, “let me add there is a bankbook and a 
few bits of valuable jewelry among her things.” 

“Oh, yes, Uncle Charles made mention of the bankbook. 
I will look into this matter. There must be quite a sum of 
interest also accumulated,” said Richard. 

“Since when have you become so keen about accumula¬ 
tions, Richard, ’ ’ asked Dr. Drake glad again of an opportunity 
to tease, “I thought radicals didn’t believe in interest and 
dividends, ’ ’ he added with a twinkle in his eye. 

“As Ellen’s guardian,” replied Richard, “I have to look 
out for her rights. However, I would be very glad if I could 
live to see the time when there would be no need of figuring 
interest and dividing dividends,” he added smiling thought¬ 
fully. 

“Mother,” put in Edgar, whom everybody supposed was 
fast asleep but who had been a wide-awake observer of all that 
had happened that night, “since Ellen is not my sister, I 
suppose I can marry her when I am grown up.” He spoke so 
innocently and frankly that it was a pleasure to hear him. 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


Alice laughed musically and pinched Florence who gave 
a cry which ended in smothered laughter. Richard turned 
towards the girls with a heavy frown and told them to behave 
but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth. 

The mother put her arms around the embarrassed boy 
and said gently, “If you will love dear Ellen then as you do 
now, there is no reason why you should not marry her, provid¬ 
ing she returns your affection.” 

Dr. Drake glad of an opportunity to tease Alice again, 
said, “You needn’t laugh, miss. Once you asked me if you 
were big enough to marry Henry and that was only ten years 
ago.” It was her turn to face an embarrassing situation and 
although she joined in the laughter that followed Dr. Drake’s 
remark, her sweet face grew crimson and her eyes fell for she 
felt the roguish look with which Henry favored her. 

'At last, wearied with the excitements of the day, the 
happy family and their guests retired just as the hall clock 
struck the midnight hour. 

The following morning when Richard entered the library, 
he found Dr. Drake already comfortably seated in a large 
armchair reading the morning’s news. 

“Ah, good morning, Richard,” he said cheerfully, “good 
news — read this,” and he pointed to the headlines of an 
article. A smile of amusement played about Richard’s lips 
as he read: 


Coal Strike Settled 
Public Sentiment Forces Arbitration 
Victory for Miners 


“With a deep sigh of relief our 
nation, after many weary months 
of suffering and anxiety, has set- 
led down in satisfaction at the 
announcement that the coal 


strike, which has cost the people 
so much, has been settled. The 
coal miners are to be congratu¬ 
lated on the settlement of the 
strike.” — and so on. 


[ 247 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“I do not wish to trouble you with an argument now,” 
said Richard giving back the paper, ‘‘but let me say a few 
words. The coal operators have decided to arbitrate because 
they have begun to realize that it was absolutely necessary to 
end the strike in order to avert more disastrous results to all 
concerned. Otherwise they would have starved the struggling 
miners into submission.” 

“I know this to be only too true, Richard. “Nevertheless 
I am heartily glad that the strike is settled and that the 
miners were victorious. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, the operators will lose nothing by their defeat — 
the miners’ gain will be the public’s loss.” 

‘ ‘ What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I mean that if the miners are to get an increase in their 
wages, the people will have to pay a higher price for coal in 
the future.” 

Dr. Drake remained thoughtful for some time, then he 
said, “Richard, supposing the government should take over 
the coal mines and work them for the benefit of the people, 
what plans would you suggest that would be practicable and 
profitable? Take for instance the postal system. It is ad¬ 
mitted that it is run at a loss.” 

“It is not necessary that government ownership should 
be profitable,” said Richard. “It is always beneficient and 
that is enough; if there is profit it is the public’s gain — if 
there is a deficit that is the public’s loss and no one would be 
held responsible for it. The American people give willingly 
and freely and would have no objection to paying a regula¬ 
tion price for necessities pertaining to life and comfort in 
time of peace any more than it does in time of war. So long 
as it be for the benefit of the entire nation — or in other words 
— people would pay for a ton of coal in proportion to the 
cost of mining each ton but it is safe to say that no matter 
how high a price the government would set on a ton of coal it 

[248] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


will be less than we are paying now when it is controlled by 
private ownership — especially during the time of a strike — 
and strikes are unavoidable under present conditions. ’ 9 

“All very well, Richard,” said Dr. Drake, “ but you 
have not answered my question. What I want to know is — 
what plans it would be necessary to adopt in order to work 
the mines successfully if not on a profitable basis, and how to 
keep the army of men working steadily without complaints 
and discontent? I am very much interested in this question 
now and would like to know how this problem can be solved.” 

“First,” said Richard, “I would suggest a good living 
wage; second, comfortable homes; third, shorter hours, because 
the work of the miners is more fatiguing and more dangerous 
to their health than many other kinds of work. The next step 
should be to surround them with healthful enjoyments. My 
idea for recreations would be to give them opportunities for 
social gatherings — to have them join in wholesome merri¬ 
ment ; there should be reading clubs where they could gather 
and exchange views and cultivate the social virtue of using 
brains; there should be weekly lectures to broaden their minds; 
there should be playgrounds for all kinds of healthful games; 
there should be gymnasiums and swimming-tanks, theatres, 
museums, etc., under such wholesome surroundings that a good 
mental attitude would be cultivated and much of the dif¬ 
ficulties that are in existence now will be overcome to a large 
degree and in time it will be found non-existent.” 

“I think,” said Dr. Drake, “if the working class were 
surrounded with such pleasures as you speak of they would 
get too lazy to work.” 

‘ ‘ To the contrary, ’ ’ said Richard, ‘ ‘ under such surround¬ 
ings they would have more courage and use more energy in 
work, knowing that if they did not give good service, they 
would not be provided with pleasures and comforts. The most 
satisfying form of work is that wherein the interest is excited. 

[249] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


The desire to succeed — to accomplish some desired end — 
makes the effort worth while. Work is fatiguing and distaste¬ 
ful when it is lacking in these elements. In the performance 
of certain work there is often a sense of compulsion — there¬ 
fore the underlying rebellion and discontent in compulsory 
labor would be a thing of the past. If the workman considers 
that he is working for his own interest and not for that of his 
employer — also if he feels that his hard labor is appreciated 
and rewarded for good service the same as a soldier receives a 
medal for bravery, he would go to work with a desire to do it 
well. He would give loyalty — not only to his country — but 
aim for the highest possible standard of achievement. In time 
of war,” he continued, “the American people make all kinds 
of sacrifices for the soldiers who willingly risk their lives in 
battle. The nations’ money is freely given to lighten their 
burden — their noble willingness to sacrifice themselves for 
their country is highly appreciated — why should not the labor 
of the army of miners be equally appreciated ? Is their work 
not just as hard? Are they not risking their lives daily in 
mining the coal for the benefit of their country? After all it 
is not so much what one does as the spirit in which it is done 
that counts. If that spirit is one of willing contribution of 
service — it makes no difference in what kind of service this is 
rendered. 

“In my opinion the working man who contributes his 
work for the welfare of the nation should receive as much 
consideration and appreciation as our soldiers receive.” 

‘ ‘ I think you are right, Richard, ’ ’ said Dr. Drake thought¬ 
fully. “I never gave the matter much thought. From expe¬ 
rience, I know how necessary it is that the human body and 
brain should have some relaxation after long hours of work, 
and indulge in some healthful .enjoyment. I, for one, would 
vouch for it, for I know how I feel when a day has passed 
without my having the chance to play a game of chess or 

[250] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


solitaire. Our soldiers are provided with all kinds of whole¬ 
some recreations to keep their spirits and minds in poise. 
There is really no reason why a workingman should not enjoy 
the same privileges.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by a summons to 
breakfast. 

At the table, the marriages of the lovers were discussed. 
It was understood that Richard and Florence would marry 
when Richard’s studies were completed. Henry, however, was 
anxious to settle down and urged an early wedding. Richard 
aided him greatly by telling Alice, who pleaded for a few 
months, that if she wished him to be best man at her wedding 
she must hurry for he was anxious to return to school and he 
feared if he remained away much longer he would not pass 
examinations. They all felt the force of the argument and the 
blushing girl consented to be married on the fourteenth of 
April, which was her birthday. 

It was a simple home wedding. All those present shared 
in the joy of the young people although in their hearts there 
lay a shadow as their thoughts turned back to the days when 
another loved and dear one was beside them to share in each 
joy and sorrow. 

“Florence,” said Richard as he held her in his arms to 
bid her goodbye after Henry and Alice had ridden away under 
a shower of confetti in a touring car that was elaborately 
decorated with all kinds of old boots, “I heard Henry call 
Alice his ‘dear little wife,’ how I wish I could give wings to 
the time that must divide us so long and call you by that 
sweet name! ’ ’ 

Florence felt the pain of separation for the second time 
as keenly as did her lover. When she saw him ready to depart 
she was overwhelmed with a feeling of loneliness — yet a 
woman’s modesty often makes love screen itself under a cloak 
of indifference. She said with remarkable control — though 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


her heart was throbbing and her eyes were misty with tender¬ 
ness, “The hope that I will bear that name when you come 
back is just as sacred to me as marriage itself, Richard. We 
know we belong to one another and me must be content.’ ’ 

He tried to be, for her sake, so with one last yearning 
look, and one more lingering kiss he was gone. 

Florence watched after him with tears in her eyes, yet 
happy in the assurance that she was beloved by a man with a 
strong, noble nature and tender heart. 

When, in time, Harold Locke heard of the marriage of 
Dr. White and Alice and of the liberal wedding gift of her 
millionaire brother, he bit his lips until they bled. “I have 
been a blundering fool,” he muttered. 

Eighteen months after the date of Alice ’s wedding, and 
Henry, Jr. was six months old, Richard and Florence were 
married. Apparently baby Henry was indifferent in regard 
to the great event which took place in the other part of the 
house — his little»fists were bobbing up and down while with 
his little chubby feet he was kicking the covering, defying the 
nurse’s effort to keep it in place. 

After awhile his jolly frolic was interrupted as many of 
Alice’s girl friends found their way to the nursery all eager 
to see the center of interest there. At first Baby Henry greeted 
them with a smile and in great glee he was trying to catch 
the baby rattles and all kinds of stuffed animals he was 
showered with. Finally he became annoyed by the attentions 
he received from them and made his indignant feeling appar¬ 
ent by giving way to a hearty cry which gave evidence that he 
was the possessor of mighty strong lungs. The nurse knew 
the only way he would be pacified would be to summon his 
mother. 

Alice radiant with happiness ran up the stairs to the 
nursery and without complaint performed her motherly duty. 

[252] 


OVERWROUGHT HEARTS 


As usual, Henry, Jr. was well-satisfied with the good feed 
he had received and then fell asleep in his mother’s arms. 

When Henry, Sr. missed Alice for sometime, he knew just 
where he could find her. He entered the nursery just as she 
was placing the sleeping child in its crib. Hand in hand, the 
happy pair lingered in the room, feasting their eyes on the 
peaceful sleeper — their hearts going out with a prayer of 
thanksgiving to God for the wonderful gift he had bestowed 
upon them. 

Before Richard and Florence left on their honeymoon, 
they made their way to the nursery to bid Baby Henry adieu 
but he was too far away in dreamland to take any notice of 
his visitors. The two lovers looked on the sweet child for some 
time, their hearts throbbing with the happy feeling of antici¬ 
pation that — some day — God would bestow the same blessing 
upon them. 

“Florence, my darling, my wife, tell me your joy equals 
mine,” whispered Richard, when he and his bride were seated 
in the touring car. 

In answer, Florence pressed his hand in her little pink 
palms and nestled her pretty head close to his broad bosom. 

Richard lifted her blushing face and kissed it with pas¬ 
sionate warmth. “My darling wife,” he whispered over and 
over again. 


[ 2 53 ] 


CHAPTER XXXII 


Disappointment 

E IGHT years later we find but few changes in the sur¬ 
roundings of the Randolph home, with the exception 
that the nursery has been enlarged and Henry, Jr., who 
is now eight years old has a little sister Gladys who is two 
years old and a cousin Ruth, five years old. 

Ellen who has developed into a beautiful and graceful 
young lady stands waiting for Brown, the chauffeur, to drive 
her to the train to meet the boys, Edgar and Jim Murphy, 
who, having graduated from college, are coming home for the 
summer vacation, after which they are to fit themselves for 
positions Richard has arranged for them in his office and later 
they are to become members of the firm. 

With the passing of the years, the friendship between 
the two boys has grown in strength and loyalty, yet the 
characteristics of the two are widely different. 

Edgar, handsome, carefree, happy-go-lucky and lovable 
— his contagious laugh will change a tense atmosphere from 
gloom to sunlight, wherever he chances to be. All his acquaint¬ 
ances, old or young, are captivated by his engaging person¬ 
ality. 

Jim is an attractive figure, tall, sturdy; well-built — his 
dark face is not really handsome but the girls who know him 
say that he is a “ stunner. ’ ’ His whole being is charged with 
dynamic energy. He is vigorous, fearless and able,— a bril¬ 
liant leader in all things, yet gentle, kind-hearted and friendly. 
“Jim,” said Edgar while they were sitting in the train 

[ 254 ] 


DISAPPOINTMENT 


which every minute brought them nearer home, “did I ever 
tell you that Ellen is not my real sister?” 

“No, Edgar,” said Jim looking at his friend in surprise. 

“She was brought to our home when she was a little 
orphan baby and my mother adopted her. Not until about 
ten years ago did we know that she is our second cousin.” 

Then Edgar told Jim the story of his Uncle Charles and 
the strange way it was found out that he was Ellen’s grand¬ 
father. 

“Does Ellen know?” asked Jim. 

“She did not until a year ago.” 

There was a pathetic hitch in Jim’s voice as he asked 
again, “Was it necessary that she should know?” 

“Yes,” said Edgar. “For two reasons — first, it was 
uncle’s dying request that she should be told as she grew 
older and second—” he hesitated before he concluded, “I 
hope to marry her some day.” 

Jim started so that he almost left his seat but soon con¬ 
trolled himself. “Edgar,” he said in a quivering voice, “do 
you love Ellen, not as a brother, but — but?” He could not 
finish the sentence, the words stuck in his throat. 

11 1 knew that you would be surprised when you heard the 
news,” said Edgar carelessly, not knowing the pain and misery 
he was inflicting upon his dearest friend. “As soon as I 
learned that she was not my sister, my feelings changed. All 
these years I could think of nothing else but of the day when I 
could tell her how much I love her.” 

“Does Ellen know of your intentions?” asked Jim striv¬ 
ing to appear calm. 

11 Not yet — but she will before long. I intend to speak to 
her the first opportunity I get.” 

Edgar was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did 
not notice that Jim’s face had grown white as death. Neither 
did he know that his last words had stabbed his friend to the 

[ 2 55 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


core of his heart. All Jim’s hopes — his sweet dueams — 
courage — everything — died a sudden death as he realized 
that the dearest wish of his heart was beyond his reach forever. 

Turning his head he looked at the handsome face of his 
best friend and unconsciously a sigh escaped from his pale 
lips. “Who could have a chance against Edgar Randolph?” 
he thought. “Ah! it was better to have loved and lost than 
never to have loved at all.” Poor Jim! the first agony of his 
man’s life was upon him — an agony of love that he would not 
have torn from his heart for the world though every throb of 
it was agonizing pain and as he sat there thinking he made his 
resolution — to bury his sorrow close in his breast — no one 
should know how much he suffered. He loved Ellen with all 
the strength of his manly heart — but he also loved his friend. 
Who could know Edgar and not love him? And so, with deter¬ 
mination written on every line of his face he and Edgar 
stepped off the train. 

While Ellen was on her way to meet the boys, she too, was 
absorbed in thought. Leaning back on the cushions her 
thoughts sped back to the time when she was a freshman in 
school and Jim a junior and the happy days when they had 
walked together to and from school. Not until Jim graduated 
and he and Edgar went to college did she realize how much 
she cared for Jim. 

To be sure she had many boy and girl friends, but they 
were not Jim. She missed Edgar, too. She loved him dearly 
but she did not mind half so much when she had to part from 
him as she did when she had to part from her school friend. 

Ellen’s greatest pleasure after the boys had gone was to 
read the letters which came regularly every week. Edgar’s 
letters were always full of college excitements — as football, 
baseball, and amusements common to college life but Jim’s 
letters were much more interesting to Ellen and she loved to 
read them. 


[256] 


DISAPPOINTMENT 


He wrote of his studies, of his ambitions, of his future 
dreams and every word was a confession of his love for her 
but it was written in such a guarded way that clever as Ellen 
was, she did not detect the hidden secret and she read in the 
letters only true friendship. 

At last the train arrived. Eagerly Ellen watched the 
passengers leave the cars. ‘ ‘ Oh, here they are, ’ ’ she cried with 
joy. Edgar spied her through the window first and with one 
leap he had jumped from the steps and had clasped her in 
his arms. 

‘ ‘ Ilulloa, Ellen darling. It is good to see your dear, sweet 
face once again.” 

Then turning he said, “Hie there, Jim old scout, come 
here. Ellen is looking for you.” 

Jim came forward holding out his hand. He smiled but 
Ellen at once noticed that it was not the same glad smile she 
had always seen on his good-natured face when they had met 
after a long separation. There also seemed to be a sad expres¬ 
sion in his big black eyes and — was she mistaken ? She 
thought she felt his hand tremble as he held hers. 

He squeezed her hand hard and it thrilled through her 
whole being — but something was wrong. He was not the same 
good old Jim — the dearest friend of her happy school days. 
His strange behavior disappointed her but if Ellen had known 
what he suffered when he saw her in Edgar’s affectionate 
embrace, she would not have blamed him in the least. It is 
mighty hard for a fellow to keep a smiling face when his heart 
is throbbing with sharp pain. 

They drove Jim to the cottage where his mother was wait¬ 
ing to give him her motherly welcome. 

Edgar did all the talking as they were nearing home and 
Ellen tried to answer but she hardly knew a word he spoke — 
her thoughts were with Jim. The sad expression in his eyes 
haunted her. 


[ 2 57 ] 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


The Rescue 

W HEN Jim and Edgar dressed in their white flannels 
started out to play a game of tennis there was no sus¬ 
picion of a coming storm but no sooner did they reach 
the tennis courts than they heard distant thunder and before 
they realized what had happened the storm broke upon them 
with amazing suddenness. It took them less than ten minutes 
to run back for shelter but even in that short time they were 
drenched to the skin. 

Edgar asked Jim to come up to his room and change into 
a dry suit, but obstinate Jim refused. 

“Confound you, Jim,” said Edgar giving him a dig in his 
ribs, “I can never persuade you to do anything if you have 
set your mind against it. I know that my clothes would fit you 
a little snug but it would be better than keeping on the wet 
ones. ’ ’ 

“But, Eddie,” returned Jim, “the storm will soon be 
over and there is no need to bother. I can soon go home and 
change. ’ * 

“Well if you like the shower bath you are welcome to it. 
I don’t. Wait here until I come back and I will run you 
home,” and so saying Edgar went into the house. 

Jim walked towards the farther end of the broad piazza 
where he was sheltered from the heavy downpour and as he 
stood there waiting for the storm to end he looked out at the 
lake. It fascinated him for it brought happy, yet sad mem¬ 
ories of the times when he and Ellen had drifted for hours 

[ 258 ] 


THE RESCUE 


at a time in a rowboat on the water which had been as calm 
and smooth as a mirror, but which now was a mass of spray. 
The rise and fall of the waves seemed to keep in touch with his 
heart which was heaving with a storm of pain at the memory 
of the happy past. 

“What was that!” he thought he heard a cry for help — 
it was faint — yet distinct. Shading his eyes with his hand 
he looked towards the place where the sound seemed to come 
from and there he saw a rowboat tossing up and down in 
danger of being swamped by the force of the waves. Some one 
w r as in it and appealing for help! 

“My God/’ he groaned, “it is Ellen.” He recognized 
her voice. 

Like a flash of lightning he leaped the railing and rushed 
with wild haste towards the lake — blindly running he en¬ 
countered one of the great marble vases which adorned the 
lawn filled with growing flowers and for a moment staggered 
backward but he regained his balance and on he dashed 
through flower beds and over rose bushes heedless of every¬ 
thing except the one fearful thought that Ellen was in danger 
and he might be too late to save her. 

At last he was in the water and swimming towards her 
bringing all his expert knowledge into play. He was at a great 
disadvantage as the wind was against him. Nevertheless, 
breathless as it rendered him he was soon master of the situa¬ 
tion, and with the strength of a giant he struggled on but 
there seemed no end to the distance which separated him from 
her. 

“Courage, Ellen, I am coming,” he cried repeatedly. 

At last she heard his voice and saw him but just as he 
was about to grasp the side of the boat it capsized and he saw 
her go down and come up and go down again. 

Hiving down, he was at once beside her. Taking hold of 

[259] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


her head and raising his arms as high as he could above the 
rushing waves, he floated backward to shore. 

Even while fighting a desperate battle for life he was 
conscious of the thrilling sensation that she was near to him 
and this gave him courage and strength. 

When Edgar having changed his wet clothes came out 
to look for Jim he saw him just coming up the steps with the 
senseless form of Ellen in him arms. 

“In the name of heaven, Ed.” cried Jim, “don’t stand 
staring — quick! call Dr. White.” As Edgar ran back into 
the house, Jim carried the unconscious girl into the library 
and laid her gently on a couch. Sinking on his knees he bent 
his head and listened for her heart beats, but there seemed to 
be no sign of life and a sadness like that of death fell upon 
him. It was terrible to see her so white and lifeless. “Ellen, 
Ellen,” he moaned, his bosom heaving with great sobs — 
almost insane with the impulse that was urging him, he looked 
around and then with timid hesitation his lips sought the 
white mouth of the unconscious girl — but the cold touch 
terrified him. 

“Ellen, Ellen,” he moaned again, “open your eyes! 
Speak to me, my darling, my darling, I love you so,” but 
his tender pleading failed to rouse her until just as he was 
about to give up in despair he saw a flicker of life tremble on 
the death-like face. 

“Oh, God be thanked! she is alive,” he murmured and 
with this conviction came a great sob of relief. He laid his 
head on her heart once more — his face brightened and a deep 
long sigh escaped him. Yes, there was life — her heart was 
beating faintly but it meant life. 

He heard footsteps and quickly arose. Dr. Drake and 
Dr. White followed by Edgar entered the room. The other 
members of the family were in ignorance of the tragic scene 
being enacted in the library. Jim and Edgar stepped outside 

[260] 


THE RESCUE 


to wait — neither spoke — each striving to hide his anxiety. 
It seemed to the two anxious boys that a century passed before 
they heard Dr. Drake say, “She will soon recover.” 

Again Edgar asked Jim to accept a suit of dry clothes 
and this time he did not refuse. He did not object even to 
Edgar’s assistance in removing the wet clothes which clung 
to his body as though glued there. 

After Jim had dressed, he sat down — relaxed body and 
soul — he looked at his friend and smiled. 

Edgar grasped his hand and said brokenly, “Jim, old 
boy, I don’t know how to — to—” 

“You needn’t say anything, Eddie,” said Jim with emo¬ 
tion, “Thank God, I was in time to save her.” 

“I do,” said Edgar fervently. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


The End op a Boy-Dream 

T HE next day when Jim went to inquire about Ellen he 
was somewhat startled to come face to face with her in 
the hall. She saw him and hastened to meet him. 

He took her outstretched hands in his and again Ellen 
was conscious that they were trembling and in his big black 
eyes was the same look that had been haunting her ever since 
she first saw it on his return from college. 

For a moment there was silence. Then Ellen said, “Jim, 
I owe my life to you but words fail—” 

“0, Ellen, please, please do not speak of it, I can’t bear 
it—” and as he spoke he buried his face in his hands as 
though he wanted to shut out the memory of that terrible — 
yet supreme moment of his life. 

Ellen’s blue eyes grew misty. “Jim, dear,” she said 
gently, ‘ ‘ I am sorry that it affects you so. I will never speak of 
it again, but just this once — let me tell you that I shall 
never, never forget your heroic act.” 

“Ellen, you exaggerate my heroism — any man w r ho is a 
man would have done the same. If Edgar had seen your 
danger, it would have been his privilege to have saved you; 
but I am glad it was I who had the pleasure. ’ 9 

“Pleasure,” cried Ellen, “why, Jim, you speak as if it 
was an everyday occurrence for a man to risk his life for 
another’s — besides it would have been Edgar’s duty, but —” 
Ellen did not finish her sentence. He cut her off with the 
utmost vehemence. She noticed that he was breathing fast and 
his face was as white as death. 


[262] 


THE END OP A BOY-DREAM 


“Ellen, do not speak of it again,” he said in a quivering 
voice, and his words were almost a command. 

She looked at him in surprise and was at a loss to under¬ 
stand the meaning of the emotion he exhibited. “Something 
is wrong with him,” she thought, “he does not act like good 
old Jim.” 

If she had known how her last words had wounded his 
heart, she would not have wondered at his strange behavior. 
They heard Edgar’s cheerful voice and both were glad of the 
interruption of the awkward silence. 

“Hello there, Jim, old scout, I came to take Ellen for a 
drive — was going to the cottage to pick you up — a good 
thing you are here. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I will be glad to have you take me home, but I am sorry 
I can not accept your invitation to ride — I have important 
letters to write.” 

“Eddie,” said Ellen on their way home, “to whom does 
Jim need to write?” 

“To nobody.” 

‘ ‘ To nobody ? ’ ’ 

“Well for some reason he did not want to take this ride 
so the scamp blamed it on letter writing. I used to do the 
same thing when I was in college — when I didn’t want to 
accept a girl’s invitation, I always had important letters to 
write. ’ ’ 

A few weeks later Ellen gave expression to her thoughts 
again. “Edgar, what is wrong with Jim lately?” she asked. 
“He is changed. Something seems to trouble him — what 
is it?” 

“Why, Ellen, I havn’t noticed it. What do you think 
is wrong with him?” 

“He doesn’t come to see us as often as he used and 
when he does come he is very silent and thoughtful and there 
is an awful sad look in his eyes. Do you think he is in love ? ’ ’ 

[26.3] 




THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“Jim in love!” said Edgar laughing, “why, Ell, the 
girls used to call him ‘the woman hater.’ ” 

“If he is not in love, what ails him? The sad expression 
in his eyes haunts me day and night.” 

“Perhaps he is worried about the new position Richard 
offered him. To undertake the kind of work he will have to do 
is a great responsibility for a young man, especially if he is 
not prepared for it.” 

“You are not worried,” said Ellen. 

“Jim and I are made of different clay.” 

The same afternoon Ellen was sitting in a garden chair 
in the sun drying her glorious hair, which having been sham¬ 
pooed was hanging down her hack — it was always a trial for 
Ellen to get it thoroughly dry. Edgar was lying stretched 
out on the grass with his hands clasped under his head watch¬ 
ing with fascinated gaze the changes of color upon the well¬ 
shaped head — one minute the rays of the sun would make 
her lovely hair shine like gold — the next minute the shadows 
would turn it into copper. Edgar had always marveled at her 
beauty but just now he simply feasted his eyes upon her 
loveliness. 

“Say, Ell.” 

“Yes, Eddie.” 

“I wonder if you know how beautiful you are, especially 
when your hair is down your back ? ’ ’ 

Ellen laughed. “Since when have you learned to make 
such pretty speeches, Eddie,” she asked. 

“It is the truth, Ellen. I never saw you look so beautiful 
in all my life as you look now,” and as he spoke, he jumped 
up and taking her face between his hands he kissed her. 

Edgar had many times kissed Ellen, but somehow she 
felt that there was difference in this kiss from the ones she 
had received from him before. She looked up in surprise and 
her cheeks burned crimson. 


[264] 


THE END OF A BOY-DREAM 


‘‘Ell,” he said taking her hand, “I love you.” 

‘ ‘ I know you do. ’ ’ 

“But—but—I don’t love you as a brother loves a sister.” 

“Then you love me as a cousin loves a cousin.” 

“I love you as any man loves the woman he wants to 
marry,” Edgar blurted out. 

Ellen stood up. Not only surprise but astonishment ren¬ 
dered her speechless. She looked at him a moment in silence, 
then she burst into an hysterical laugh. 

“Edgar Randolph, are you crazy?” 

“Crazy over you.” 

When she saw that he was serious, Ellen laid her hand 
on his shoulder and said, “Forgive me, Eddie dear, I did not 
mean to hurt your feelings, but surely you are not serious.” 

“I never was so serious in all my life as I am now, 
Ellen.” 

“Edgar, all my life I have loved you as a brother — 
how can you expect that I can love you in any other way?” 

“But you know now that I am not your brother. My 
feelings towards you changed the moment I learned that you 
were not my sister.” 

“But you have had ten years to get used to the thought. 
What chance have I had? And even if I had known it long 
ago, I could never learn to love you in any other way than a 
sister loves a brother.” Then in a pleading voice she added, 
“Eddie dear, don’t ever speak of it again. Real love has not 
touched your heart yet. When it does, you will know the 
difference.” 

She spoke calmly and very gently and although Edgar 
felt that his boy-dream had come suddenly to an end yet he 
wondered why he did not feel more sorry. 

“Oh, what is the use of worrying?” he said to himself; 
‘ ‘ if Ellen will not have me there is no need of marrying any 
one else. After all a bachelor’s life has its attractions.” 

[ 265 ] 


CHAPTER XXXV 


The Apple Tree 

O NE Saturday afternoon, Jim was sitting in the window 
of the little cosy parlor absorbed in thought. His hand, 
supporting his head, was leaning on the arm of the chair 
and he was running his free hand nervously through his thick 
black hair — a habit which he had cultivated of late and some¬ 
times he would sit for hours in the same position, thinking — 
thinking. 

His mother sat by a little table knitting and every now 
and then she would glance at her son and her eyebrows would 
lift in a worried, pitying glance. The anxious mother knew 
what was ailing Jim and her sympathetic heart ached to see 
him suffer. 

Mrs, Murphy was a good Catholic but when it came to the 
affairs of the heart she was intelligent enough to realize that 
religion should not separate two loving souls and therefore 
would have welcomed Ellen or any girl Jim loved as a 
daughter-in-law regardless of their religious faith. Not know¬ 
ing that Jim suffered on account of his belief that Edgar loved 
Ellen she thought that the difference in their religious beliefs 
was causing the estrangement between Ellen and Jim and she 
sighed. 

Suddenly Jim jumped up — through the window he had 
seen the Randolph touring car drive up to the cottage. 
“Mother, Edgar and Ellen are here,” he said and Mrs. 
Murphy followed her son into the hall to welcome their callers. 
This was not the first time that Edgar and Ellen had 

[266] 


THE APPLE TREE 


stopped at the cottage for a cup of tea after a long drive in 
the country. Altho they usually popped in unexpectedly, they 
always knew that a hearty welcome awaited them. 

While Mrs. Murphy went to the kitchen to see about pre¬ 
paring the tea and Ellen was playing with the little white 
Angora kitten, Edgar said, “Say, Jim old scout, what is wrong 
with you lately? We haven’t seen you for an age.” 

Jim smiled his late sad smile. “You know, Eddie, that 
in three weeks I am to take up my new position and I am 
getting prepared.” 

‘ ‘ Getting prepared. What are you going over, your 
arithmetic?” 

This time Jim laughed and it was the good old cheerful 
laugh. His mother heard it in the kitchen and a china plate 
fell out of her hand and broke but she did not mind its loss 
although it belonged to her best set — it was so good to hear 
Jim laugh once more. “God bless them for coming,” she 
murmured to herself. 

Jim felt that Ellen’s blue eyes were upon him and the 
blood rushed to his face. 

“Edgar,” said Ellen, “if I were you I would not accept so 
poor an excuse. I think Jim has a grudge against the lake and 
that is why he stays away. ’ ’ 

“Ellen,” said Jim in a firm voice, “haven’t I forbidden 
you to speak of that again?” There was both reproach and 
command in his voice but Ellen did not mind; she liked Jim’s 
masterful way of speaking. 

Making a curtsy, she said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but 
whenever I see your royal highness, I can not help thinking 
about it.” 

Jim bowed with mock-dignity, “I will forgive the 
princess, if she will promise not to disobey again.” 

Mrs. Murphy then announced tea ready and when they 
sat down at the table Ellen noticed a fruit-bowl full of 

[267] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


lovely big red apples. “0, Eddy,” she exclaimed with delight, 
“look at these luscious apples. Aren’t they beauties?” and as 
she spoke she helped herself to one and soon her pearly teeth 
had left their marks upon it. 

“They grow in our yard,” said Mrs. Murphy, pleased to 
see Ellen’s enjoyment of the fruit. 

“You shall have a bushel of them tomorrow,” said Jim. 

Ellen laughed. “I don’t want a bushel,” she said, “but 
I would like a few of them to take home. Baby Gladys is so 
fond of red apples.” 

“I can see your finish, Ellen,” laughed Edgar, “if you 
dare take apples to the nursery. You should have seen the 
fuss Henry made the other day because I gave the baby a 
chocolate!” 

Taking out his watch, he exclaimed, “Ellen, it is four 
o ’clock and we promised Dr. Drake we would be home by that 
time.” Turning to Mrs. Murphy he said, “Our house is de¬ 
serted today, the folks went to New York to see the addition 
that has been built to the orphan asylum. There is to be a 
banquet and the proceeds are to be devoted to the necessities 
of the orphan children. Florence is working hard to make the 
institution a success.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Murphy, “she certainly works hard 
to help the poor orphans. God bless her.” 

About an hour after Edgar and Ellen had returned to 
their home, the telephone rang. Ellen answered and Edgar 
heard her say, “No. Dr. White is not in, but if it is an emer¬ 
gency call, Dr. Drake will be only too glad to attend.” The 
other party on the line must have said something awful for 
with the receiver in her hand, Ellen fell senseless to the floor. 

Edgar ran and lifted her inanimate form in his arms and 
laid her tenderly on the sofa. Then he pressed a button to 
summon Dr. Drake. 

It required all the medical skill of which the physician 

[268] 


THE APPLE TREE 


was capable to rouse Ellen from the death-like lethargy into 
which she had fallen. At last she opened her eyes and looked 
up at Dr. Drake. With white, trembling lips she murmured, 
“Jim — Jim — is hurt — go to him — ’’ Then she broke down 
and wept as though her heart would break. 

“Ellen,” said Edgar sitting down near her and putting 
his arm around her waist, “don’t cry so. It may not be as 
bad as you think. Please dear, don’t. It makes me shiver.” 

“Oh, Eddie,” she sobbed, hiding her head against his 
shoulder, ‘ ‘ suppose he is terribly hurt and dying. ’ ’ 

“Who gave the message?” asked Edgar. 

“I think some neighbor who was assisting Mrs. Murphy. 

“Did she say what had happened?” 

“All I heard her say was that Jim was hurt and un¬ 
conscious and to send the doctor immediately.” 

“Oh, Eddie, what shall I do? What shall I do?” and 
again she began to sob hysterically. 

Edgar tried to console her but in his heart he felt a 
misgiving that something awful must have happened in the 
cottage. 

At last they heard Dr. Drake returning. Ellen looked 
up quickly and her blue eyes asked the question her lips did 
not speak. 

“Pie will be all right soon,” the good doctor said and 
laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder he added kindly, “No need 
to worry, child, he will soon be well enough for another break¬ 
neck stunt.” 

“What happened, doctor?” asked Edgar anxiouf/iy for 
he had a suspicion that although Dr. Drake tried to speak 
cheerfully, he was worried. 

“You know what a reckless fellow Jim is? Well, j,.ot sat¬ 
isfied with jumping into the lake to save a young lady from 
drowning, the foolish lad did another stunt this afternoon 
to please her.” 


[269] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“What did he do?” 

“He climbed up the apple tree to get those confounded 
apples Ellen admired so much.” 

“Was it in getting those apples he got hurt?” asked 
Edgar in surprise. 

Ellen sat with her face buried in her hands — silently 
weeping as she listened. 

“Yes,” said Dr. Drake, “as soon as you and Ellen left 
the cottage, Jim climbed up into the tree and tried to reach for 
the highest branch on which the apples looked reddest — well, 
you know what a husky fellow he is? No sooner did he put 
his feet on one of the branches than it broke under his weight 
and down came Jim, apples and all. Judging from the dis¬ 
tance he fell I am surprised that he did not split his head 
open.” 

Ellen shuddered. 

“What are his injuries?” asked Edgar again. 

“It is hard telling at present. He is only half-conscious 
and could not tell where he feels the pain but I fear there may 
be a little congestion of the brain. ’ ’ 

A sudden resolve took possession of Ellen — jumping up, 
she laid her hand on Edgar’s shoulder and in a pleading voice 
said, “Eddie, I want to go to him — I — I — mean — I want 
to go to the cottage and help Mrs. Murphy nurse Jim. It was 
on account of my foolish whim that he got hurt, and I want 
to help. Please, please, take me there.” 

Edgar looked at Dr. Drake, but the good man shook his 
head, “No, Ellen,” he said kindly but firmly, “Jim is not fit 
to see company now. You must make no atempt to see him 
until I give you permission. Your well-meant kindness might 
do him more harm than good. He must have no excitement. ’ ’ 

Deeply disappointed and her white face convulsed with 
suppressed sobs, Ellen left the room. 

[270] 


THE APPLE TREE 


“Poor Ellen,” said Edgar, “she takes it to heart because 
it was on her account that Jim got hurt.” 

“Between you and me,” said Dr. Drake looking more 
grave, “the boy has had a marvelous escape from death and he 
is still in great danger. I wish Henry was here to consult 
with. ’ ’ 

Once in her own room, Ellen flung herself face downward 
on the bed and shook with a passionate storm of weeping. 
“Jim — Jim,” cried the unhappy girl, “I never knew how 
much I do love you until now! ’ ’ Ellen spoke truthfully. She 
loved Jim, but not until his life was in danger did she realize 
the depth of her affection for the brave, noble boy. 


I 


i 


\ 


[271] 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


True Friendship 

T WO WEEKS had passed since Jim’s accident and still 
Dr. Drake and Edgar kept Ellen from visiting the 
cottage. But Ellen had determined that she would see 
him if only to look at him once and assure herself that he 
was not dying. 

Ellen was always watching when Dr. Drake returned 
from his daily visit to the cottage and the worried expres¬ 
sion of the physician’s face terrified her, and so she made up 
her mind to find out just what Jim’s condition was. 

To be sure she had telephoned his mother every day but 
Mrs. Murphy’s replies to her inquiries was always so guarded 
and non-committal she was not satisfied. 

“Brown,” she said to the chauffeur, “where are you 
going?” 

“To the square, Miss Ellen, to get a supply of gasoline.” 
“I am going to see Mrs. Murphy and you can drive me 
as far as you go, — I will walk the rest of the way — it is 
not far.” 

“Yes ma’am, but I can drive you to the cottage if you 
wish.” 

“No, I would rather walk.” 

When Ellen reached the cottage, she did not ring the 
bell, fearing it might disturb the invalid. She rapped on the 
door several times very softly but there was no reply. 
Pushing the door open (which she saw was not latched) she 
stepped into the hall. She waited here several minutes but 

[272] 







■ 























































She drew near the bed and bent over the sleeper, holding her breath 


„ * 







TRUE FRIENDSHIP 


no one came to greet her. Thinking Mrs. Murphy might 
be upstairs and did not hear her, she went up very quietly. 
Pushing the curtains aside, of the room where she knew 
Jim lay, she looked in. 

Breathless with excitement, she entered. Nobody was 
there except Jim who was lying asleep on the bed, his face 
white and ghastly. For a moment she stood and watched 
him — “What if he should wake and find here there!” she 
thought. Pride, devotion and humility all asserted them¬ 
selves. Ellen had entered the room full of enthusiasm — 
ready to dare anything — but the realization that she was 
alone with the man she loved with all the strength of her 
young heart made a coward of her — yet the sight of the 
sleeping man fascinated her. She stood there looking at the 
helpless form and her heart ached with an agonizing pain. 

She drew near the bed and bent over the sleeper holding 
her breath. How thin and worried he looked! It seemed to 
her he felt her presence even in his profound slumber and 
the knowledge must have been pleasing for a faint smile 
stole over his face and some softly-whispered words 
trembled on his lips. — 0 Ellen, I love you so — I love you 
so. ’ 9 ' 

The bewildered girl dropped on her knees by the side 
of the bed and pressed her hands over her mouth to smother 
the cry of joy that rose to her lips. Her movement had 
been noiseless and the sleeper was not disturbed. For a 
moment there was silence. Then again his lips moved and 
she heard him say, “Why must I love her so, why must I 
love her so?” 

Lower Ellen bent her head, and kissing those parted 
lips which had told her the secret of his heart, she fled from 
the room and ran breathless and trembling out of the house. 

Jim opened his eyes and smiled vaguely as sick people 
will smile in dreams. 


[273] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


When Mrs. Murphy returned from her errand to the store 
where she had been to procure a certain food Dr. Drake had 
prescribed for the invalid, she found him out of bed trying to 
walk across the floor to the open window. 

“Why Jim!” she cried, “what will the Doctor say if he 
knew that-? ’ ’ 

“Oh, Mother, Mother! look out of the window — some 
one was in this room — look and see who it was.” 

“Jim dear, you must have been dreaming. I was only 
gone a few minutes and did not see any one leave the house 
as I came back.” She noticed that her son was in a high 
state of excitement — the color in his cheeks and the flash 
of his eyes frightened her. Mrs. Murphy dreaded a second 
return of the fever w r hich had almost cost him his life. 

“Jim, dear, when I left you, you were peacefully sleep¬ 
ing. What woke you so soon?” 

“Mother, please,” gasped the sick man, “I am sure 
some one was in the room when I woke. Look again and 
see if anybody is walking on the road.” 

Mrs. Murphy stepped to the window and looked out. 
“No.” she said, “I see no one. Come, my boy, lie down, you 
are not strong enough to stand.” 

“Yes mother, help me back to bed,” he said heaving a 
deep sigh and as soon as he reached the bed he fell on the 
pillow exhausted and his eyes closed wearily. 

“It was so real,” he murmured under his breath. “I 
felt her kiss on my lips. But perhaps it was only a dream. 
It could not be that she would come here and kiss me.” 
Weak and despondent, he lay with his hands under his head 
murmuring the words, “dreaming, dreaming, always dream¬ 
ing. Can it be so clear, so real and yet a dream?” 

Mrs. Murphy stood by the bed and anxiously watched 
him. The flush was still on his face. His eyelids were 
closed but they were quivering and the long dark lashes 

[ 274 ] 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP 


were damp with tears which he was unable to suppress be¬ 
cause of the extremity of his weakness. 

“My poor boy — my poor boy,” she sighed, “when will 
it end? He is always thinking and dreaming of her.” 
Touched and worried, she went downstairs to go about her 
work. 

Edgar was very much worried about Ellen. The other 
members of the family did not know what had happened to 
Jim the day they were away in New York. For Ellen’s sake, 
Dr. Drake and Edgar decided to say nothing about it for the 
mere mention of the matter made Ellen shrink as though the 
very thought of it was agony to her. Therefore it was only 
the Doctor and Edgar who observed the change in her. 

“Dr. Drake,” said Edgar one morning, “have you 
noticed how thin and pale Ellen has grown since the day Jim 
was hurt?” 

“Yes I have, Eddie. But you know girls always take 
things to heart more than boys do. Perhaps she feels it a 
little more because it was on her account that he got hurt.” 

“But he is out of danger now and I see no sense in her 
fretting her very life away because it happened that he got 
hurt in her service. I do not think she has slept well or 
eaten one square meal since the accident. I took a good look 
at her yesterday and she looks to me like a beautiful ghost 
of her own dear self.” 

“I think you had better drive her over to the cottage,” 
said Dr. Drake, “then she will see for herself that Jim is 
getting better and will not worry so much.” 

“I don’t agree with you, Doctor. I think if Ellen saw 
him as he looks now, the sight would kill her for the poor 
fellow is certainly a sight now. Great Scott!” he added, “I 
never would have thought a few week’s illness would knock 
a fellow out and make such a change in one’s looks as it 
has in Jim’s.” 


075] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


If they knew that Ellen had seen Jim and had seen the 
awful change in the man she loved they would not have 
wondered why she looked like the shadow of her former self. 

While Ellen was unable to visit Jim, Edgar had Dr. 
Drake’s permission to see him as often as he wished. He went 
to the cottage every afternoon and it was a great relief to 
Mrs. Murphy as it gave her an opportunity to attend to her 
household duties which were sadly neglected after Jim got 
hurt. 

But the day after the conversation with the Doctor, 
Edgar received a message from a friend of his that he was 
coming to spend the week-end with him. As he was to go to 
the train to meet him in the afternoon, he went to the cottage 
in the morning instead. 

He found Mrs. Murphy downstairs. She told him that 
Jim had spent a restless night and she had left him still 
asleep. “But you can go up.” she said, “he may be awake 
now. ’ ’ 

Edgar walked quietly up the stairs and entered the sick 
room. Jim was still asleep. Noiselessly he approached the 
bed and a pain shot through his heart as he looked at the 
sleeper and noted the terrible change illness had wrought in 
his friend — how thin and worn he looked. Although Edgar 
had seen him many times when awake he never realized until 
that morning, what a wreck the accident had made of Jim. 

Edgar sat down and took up the morning paper which 
Mrs. Murphy had placed on a chair for Jim when he should 
wake. Jim was muttering something in his sleep and Edgar 
would not have taken any notice of it save that he dis¬ 
tinguished the mention of Ellen’s name.” 

“Oh, Ellen, I — love — you! I — love — you! but 
Edgar loves her”—then there was a pause and again he 
muttered, ‘ 1 Oh, why must I love her so ? ” — a heavy sigh and 
Jim opened his eyes to meet those of his friend. 

[276] 


TRUE FRIENDSHIP 


He held out his hand that trembled from weakness and 
smiled. Such a sad smile it was and it cut Edgar to the 
core of his heart. 

“I — I — thought I saw Ellen” said Jim in a trembling 
voice, “is she here?” 

“No Jim, Ellen is not here this morning but she will be 
here this afternoon. I will bring her to you myself.” 

Edgar’s words had a double meaning but Jim did not 
understand. Edgar noticed the glad look in his friend’s 
eyes and the vivid flush that swept his pale cheeks — it re¬ 
vealed to Edgar a secret over which his brains had been 
puzzling the last few weeks. 

On his way home, Edgar thought matters over. He had 
always had a suspicion that Jim’s feeling towards Ellen had 
a deeper meaning than mere friendship but then — every boy 
who met Ellen had fallen in love with her —* so it was per¬ 
fectly natural that Jim should love her especially when they 
had always been such good friends, but of late Jim had 
looked and acted rather strange but not until that morning 
when Jim had betrayed his secret while asleep did Edgar 
understand the meaning of the great change in him — Jim 
not only loved Ellen — he worshipped the very ground she 
walked on. 

Now he understood the appealing look in his friend’s 
eyes and the sad expression on his face and the heavy sighs 
that would sometimes unconsciously escape his lips. “Poor 
fellow, how he must have suffered for my sake. Well, any¬ 
way, he knows now that there is no engagement between 
Ellen and myself and I haven’t a shadow of doubt that Ellen 
loves Jim as desperately as he loves her. Why did she take 
his illness so to heart? Why has she those dark circles under 
her blue eyes? why did the roses fade from her cheeks? why 
did her lips so often quiver as though she was on the verge of 
tears? Great Scott! I never thought Love is such a terrible 

[277] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


destroyer of beauty and strength. I am almost glad it did 
not affect me so much, when Ellen refused to marry me. 
It is a good thing I found Jim asleep this morning and it 
gave me a chance to solve the mystery. When the poor old 
fellow spoke with such passion and longing of his love for 
Ellen, I realized that my heart has never been touched with 
so great a love as his and it is no wonder that Ellen took 
my proposal to her as a joke. In one sense of the word, it 
was, for if I loved her as desperately as Jim does, I would 
not feel so happy to give her to him.” 


/ 



[278] 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


A Waking Dream 

[T^LLEN, I saw Jim this morning. He is much better.’’ 
t'j “Did he inquire about me, Eddie?” 

“Inquire about you! Why girlie his big black eyes do 
nothing else but ask questions about you. When I told him 
how badly you felt because he nearly lost his life in trying 
to get those confounded red apples for you, he said that 
Dr. Drake was a blundering fool because he told you the 
cause of his sickness. ‘Why couldn’t he have said that I came 
down with the measles or mumps,’ he said. Could you beat 
it?” 

Ellen laughed — it was her old-time, musical laugh and 
it made Edgar happy to hear it. 

“Ell, now that Jim is better,” said Edgar, “ he is rather 
disappointed because you have not been to see him all this 
time.” 

“Didn’t his mother tell him that I phoned her every day 
to inquire about him ? ’ ’ 

“Indeed she did, but a telephone message is not like 
seeing your sunny face. ’ ’ 

“Did he really say that, Eddie?” 

“Well, if you doubt my word, why don’t you go there 
and find out for yourself how much the poor fellow has missed 
you ?’ ’ 

“I would be glad to go if you will drive me down to the 
cottage this afternoon.” 

“If you can get ready in a jiffy, I will, Ellen, but you 

[279] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


know I have to go to the train at five o’clock to meet my 
friend. ” 

“You can take me to the cottage and I will wait until 
you get back from the station to bring me home. I will go 
now and dress for the ride.” 

When Ellen came back with coat and hat on, Edgar gave 
a long whistle, ‘ ‘ Goodness, girlie, what did you do to yourself 
in that short time ? Is it real or artificial only ? This morning 
I was deploring your lost beauty and now you stand before 
me like a painted picture,” and as he spoke he took his hand¬ 
kerchief and began to rub her cheeks to convince himself as to 
whether or not the roses on them were real —“and those eyes! 
Did you drop belladonna into them to make them sparkle so ? 
Say, Ell, that hat is a stunner and you look stunning in it. ’ ’ 

‘‘ Oh, Eddie, stop your fooling — we will be late. ’ ’ 

As soon as Edgar entered the cottage he made ready to 
walk upstairs. “Jim is sitting in the parlor,” said Mrs. 
Murphy. “Today was the first time that the lad ventured to 
walk downstairs and he is beginning to look like himself 
again,” she added. 

While Ellen remained in the hall talking to Mrs. Murphy, 
Edgar took advantage of the few minutes to speak to his 
friend alone. The same marvelous change which had taken 
place in Ellen that afternoon had also taken place in Jim and 
once more Edgar exclaimed in surprise. Bending over Jim 
who sat on a chair by the window, he whispered, “Say, old 
man, I did not know there was such a thing as love tonic.” 
Then he added, “Ellen is going to remain here while I go to 
meet my friend. I will invite your mother to go for a ride. 
Make the best of your opportunity,” and before Jim could 
reply, Edgar was gone. 

A great change had indeed taken place in Jim since that 
morning. He was dressed in a gray tweed suit — his dark, 
wavy hair was brushed back from his broad forehead in 

[280] 


A WAKING DREAM 


pompadour style — lie was still pale but that added more 
character to his physical beauty. In his big, black eyes was 
the old sparkle and happy expression like to that of the old 
school days when they held not a shadow of sorrow. 

How his heart throbbed with the effort to suppress the 
emotion that swept over him at the thought that soon the 
supreme moment would come and he would be alone with 
Ellen. 

‘ ‘ Ellen, ’’ said Edgar when he came out of the parlor. 
“You will have to keep Jim company until we come back. 
I am taking Mrs. Murphy out for a ride,— the fresh air will do 
her good, now Jim is so much better . 99 

Mrs. Murphy looked up in surprise but seeing the signifi¬ 
cant look in Edgar’s eyes — the mother understood and a 
happy smile illumined her kind face. 

With a beating heart and hesitating step, Ellen walked 
towards the parlor. 

“ Ellen! 99 Jim cried rising, with both hands outstretched. 

“Jim!" she answered and she flew to him, nestling her 
head against his broad bosom just as a young bird will fly 
to the nest of the mother bird and nestle under its wing. 

For a moment there was silence. Then pressing her close 
to him, he murmured, “My darling, my darling, I love you 
so!” 

“I knew it before,” she said, burying her burning face 
in the hollow of the arm that held her so tenderly close to 
his heaving heart. 

Lifting her pretty head, he looked straight into her face 
in a sort of a challenge and saw tears trembling in her eyes. 

“You knew it before?” 

“Yes, you told me.” 

He was dumb with astonishment. 

“I told you before — when?” 

[281] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


She laughed a little breathlessly, “You told me in your 
sleep.” 

“Did Edgar tell you?” 

“Edgar! why no, I heard it with my own ears from your 
own lips.” 

She put her arms around his neck and drew his head 
towards her. He thrilled at the touch of her soft, smooth 
cheek against his. For a moment he did not speak. Then he 
said, “Ellen dearest, what do you mean?” and Ellen blush- 
ingly confessed to him that she had stolen into the room when 
he was asleep, “and — and — Jim — I kissed you on your 
lips.” 

“My darling, I wish I was asleep now!” 

She carried her lips to his. “I’d rather kiss you when you 
are awake,” she laughed. 

“My own, own Ellen,” he cried, holding her so tight it 
made her struggle for breath. 

“And — and — Jim — I was so ashamed of what I had 
done, that I could not face you. That is w T hy I stayed away 
so long.” 

“You cruel Ellen,” he said, “if you had not stayed away, 
I would have been well long ago.” 

“Really, Jim,” she asked. 

“Yes, darling,” he replied, “they were all fooled; you, 
too. They thought it was my head but it was my heart that 
was sick with longing for you.” 

‘ ‘ Then why didn’t you speak ? ’ ’ 

Then he told her how much he had suffered in the belief 
that she was engaged to Edgar. 

She laughed—“The dear boy, how funny he did look 
when he proposed to me. It certainly was a big joke, as if I 
could have ever loved him in any other way than as a dear 
brother!’ ’ 

When Edgar, Mrs. Murphy and Edgar’s friend who was 

[282] 


A WAKING DREAM 


to spend the week end with him reached the cottage they found 
Jim and Ellen in the dining room having tea. Mrs. Murphy 
had set the table and prepared everything before she left 
and all Ellen had to do was to heat the water. 

Jim told her that tea never tasted so good to him as the 
tea she was serving him, when Ellen handed him the second 
cup. It nearly fell out of her hand because restless Jim tried 
to take her hand instead of the cup. 

“Percy, meet my sister, Miss Randolph, and let me intro¬ 
duce you to my friend, Jim Murphy. Miss Randolph, by the 
way — will soon be Mrs. Murphy.” 

“Oh, Edgar, aren’t you awful,” she said, her cheeks 
flaming scarlet — while Percy Morgan wished as he looked at 
the sweet, blushing face, that he could change places with Jim 
Murphy. 

Mrs. Murphy took a handkerchief and blew her nose, 
but it was only an excuse to wipe away the glad tears which 
flowed freely. 

“Jim, old boy,” said Edgar, placing his hands on his 
friend’s shoulder, “it does my heart good to see you looking 
so well and happy, but remember that you must always give 
thanks for blessings. You have two things to be thankful for: 
first that the branch of the apple tree broke and second that 
you have a habit of talking in your sleep. Ellen, if Jim ever 
keeps a secret from you while he is awake, he will always 
give it away in his sleep.” 

Jim and Ellen exchanged looks and smiled. 


[283] 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


New Friends 

I T WAS a beautiful day in the early autumn. The last rays 
of the setting sun shot aslant between a group of old maple 
trees and illumined the windows of a beautiful summer 
home in Newport, R. I. 

Mr. Gerald Mason, a retired banker, was glancing over 
the columns of the Evening News while waiting for dinner to 
be announced. His daughter Gloria, a charming girl, was 
sitting opposite him and very much interested in a collection 
of snapshots which she had received from a colleg chum. 

‘ 1 Is there any especial news in the paper tonight, Daddy, * ’ 
she asked as she was placing the pictures back in the envelope. 

“Not much,” he said, “and now since you are home — 
and for good—” he added, looking at her affectionately, 
“there will be no need to look in the paper for news. Do you 
remember what a little gossip you were ? ’ ’ 

Gloria laughed. It was a musical laugh and her father 
loved to hear it. “I have outgrown my old habits, Daddy 
dear.” Then she said, “I am so glad you didn’t invite com¬ 
pany this summer. It seems good to have you all to myself — 
at least for a few months. Besides there is so much going on 
the last year of college that one is glad of an opportunity for 
a good long rest after all the excitements.” 

“To tell you the truth, Gloria, I, too, felt the need of 
a quiet summer and I am glad you did not miss the company 
of younger folks.” 

“You take the place of young and old,” she said looking 

[284] 


NEW FRIENDS 


at him with a wealth of tenderness in her glorious brown eyes. 

“Gloria,” said her father, “suppose you and I take a 
motor trip this fall in the new car which is to arrive tomorrow 
that I have bought for you as a birthday gift 1 ?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, you darling, darling Daddy! Did you really buy 
me a car?” and as she spoke she left her place by the table 
and ran over to him and putting her arms around him covered 
his face with loving kisses. 

“When shall we start?” she asked eagerly, filled with the 
excitement of having a car of her own. 

“Whenever you are ready.” 

“Where shall we go?” 

‘ * I think we will tour Pennsylvania state. I would like to 
look up an old friend of mine whom I haven’t seen for an 
age,” 

“Do you know where to find him?” 

“I think he lives in some country resort called ‘West- 
wood.’ ” 


* * # * # 

Ellen was sitting in the library reading one afternoon 
when she heard the sound of an auto horn. Glancing from the 
window she saw a large touring car stopping. 

The chauffeur walked hurriedly up the steps and Ellen 
opened the door for him. “I saw a doctor’s sign on the door. 
May I see him?” he asked in an anxious voice. 

While Ellen pressed the button to summon Dr. White, 
the man told her that his employer had been taken suddenly 
ill while on the way to visit a friend. 

Dr. White went with the man to bring the patient into 
his office and Ellen through the window saw a beautiful girl 
who looked pale and anxious and who was supporting the gray 
head of a man resting on her bosom. As the door opened her 

[285] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


face brightened and Ellen heard her say in a sweet, pleading 
voice, “Please, please, Gibbs, hurry — I think he is dying/’ 

Dr. White and the chauffeur carried the unconscious man 
into the house and he was placed on a couch in Dr. White’s 
private office. The girl followed and seemed utterly oblivious 
of her surroundings — her eyes did not leave the face of the 
sick man for a moment. 

“Pardon me,” said Dr. White kindly, “will you sit here 
while I attend to your father?” The girl silently complied 
with the doctor’s suggestion and burying her face in her hands 
broke down in a flood of tears. 

Ellen went to the weeping girl and placing her hand on 
her shoulder said gently, “Do not be so distressed, it may not 
be so bad as you think. ’ ’ 

Gloria looked up — for it was she who sat there weeping 
as though her heart would break — but before she could answer 
Ellen, Dr. White stepped into the library and said, “Your 
father will soon recover. It is an attack of sun stroke and with 
care and rest he will soon be well again. Gloria thanked him, 
smiling through her tears. 

When Edgar entered the library a little later he was 
surprised to find Ellen talking to a young girl who was a 
perfect stranger to him for he thought he knew all the girl 
friends of Ellen and he wondered who the exquisitely beau¬ 
tiful young lady could be. He was introduced to her in an 

informal wav and the two soon became fast friends. 

%> 

Edgar found it impossible to take his eyes from the girl’s 
face from the moment he entered the room — Gloria was 
indeed pleasant to look at. Under her little black hat her 
dark-brown hair rippled in softly curled waves and clung 
about her temples in tiny circling ringlets. Heavily fringed 
ej^elashes added mysterious depths to the great brown eyes. 
Her pink cheeks pressing against her white furs made her look 
charming but her mouth was the most attractive feature of 

[286] 


NEW FRIENDS 


her face ‘a perfect Cupid’s bow — made only to kiss,” 
Edgar thought. 

The acquaintance between Gloria, Ellen and Edgar began 
in less than ten minutes and had grown into a friendship with 
amazing suddenness and before the day ended the three young 
people felt that they had known each other a lifetime. 

* * # * # 

« 

<( How do you feel, Daddy dear?” said Gloria the next 
morning when Dr. White had given her permission to enter 
the room where her father lay. 

‘ ‘ I feel much better, my child, but the doctor thinks that 
for some time it will not be wise for me to travel until I have 
fully recovered.” 

4 ‘So I understand, dear Daddy, he spoke to me about it 
this morning — wasn’t it fortunate that Gibbs noticed the 
doctor’s sign on the door.” 

“Who are the kind people living in this beautiful home?” 
he asked. 

“Their name is Randolph, and oh, Daddy dear,” she 
added with enthusiasm, “they are the loveliest people I ever 
met. Last night they invited me to dinner and I was intro¬ 
duced to the whole family — and what a wonderful family 
they are! They made me feel so much at home I felt as if I 
had known them all my life. 

“Mrs. Randolph, the owner of the lovely house, is a dear 
— her oldest son, Richard, doesn’t say much but he looks so 
good and kind that one can not help liking him from the 
minute you know him, and his wife is the most beautiful 
woman I ever laid my eyes on. His sister is also very beautiful 
but of a different type. She is the wife of that nice Dr. White 
who is attending you. Then there is a younger son, Edgar, 

[287] 




THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 

and a cousin of theirs who lives with them. Her name is 
Ellen. 

“ Edgar, Ellen and I are great friends now. We are going 
out riding and on our way will pick up a young man whose 
name is Jim Murphy, to whom Ellen is engaged.” 

Dr. White entering at that moment told Gloria in a 
mock-serious tone that she had broken the rule of the hospital 
as visitors were allowed but one hour and she had lingered 
double that time. She smiled and waving her hand in fare¬ 
well to her father, left the room. 

“Daddy,” said Gloria the next morning as she laid her 
head close to his on the pillow and put her arm around his 
neck, “did I tell you of a nice old couple who live in this 
house with the Randolphs?” 

“No you did not, Gloria,” said her father, “but, my dear, 
aren ’t you going back to your old habits of gossiping ? ’ ’ 

“No, Daddy,” Gloria laughed, “to tell nice things about 
people isn’t gossiping—well anyway, this Dr. Drake and 
Mrs. Drake—” 

‘ ‘ What, child! what name did you say ? ’ ’ 

“Dr. and Mrs. Drake,” Gloria replied. 

‘ ‘ Gloria, ’ ’ said Mr. Mason a little excitedly, ‘ ‘ I think you 
are speaking of my old friend for whom we were looking the 
day I was taken sick. I wish I could see him.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” cried Gloria, excited herself, “wouldn’t 
it be nice to find him right in this house! I will go and ask 
Dr. White if it will be possible for you to see your friend 
today—that is, if he is the one you think he is.” 

An affecting scene took place an hour later, when Dr. 
Drake popped into the room, where Mr. Mason, now very much 
better was sitting up in bed with pillows supporting his back. 

“By Jove! I’ll be jiggered!” cried Dr. Drake in his 
cheery voice, “if it isn’t my old friend Gerald!” 

‘ ‘ Hulloa, William! ’ ’ said Mr. Mason holding out his hand, 

[288] 


NEW FRIENDS 


“isn’t it a strange incident that I should fall sick while 
hunting for you and then find you here?” 

‘ ‘ It sure is, Gerald. It nearly took my breath away when 
Henry told me who his patient was.” Then the two old 
friends got to talking about the good old days they had spent 
together when they were school chums, and of the mischievous 
tricks they played on their teachers, and so on. 

When Gloria came into the room a little later she heard 
her father laugh as she had never heard him laugh before. 

Dr. Drake spent most of his time in the sick room with his 
friend until the latter was able to join the family group. 

The next three weeks was a season of pleasure to the 
father and happiness to the daughter; then came a day when 
Mr. Mason informed Mrs. Randolph that he felt strong 
enough to travel and that he and his daughter would leave 
the following day. 

All their efforts to persuade him to prolong the visit 
failed. Mr. Mason felt that he could not take any further 
advantage of their kind hospitality and so the friends parted 
with the promises that they would exchange alternate visits 
in the near future. 


[289] 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


A Splendid Chance 

T HE day after Gloria and her father left the Randolph 
home, Edgar was pacing the floor with his hands in his 
pockets whistling — a sure sign that something was wrong 
and disturbing him. Ellen noticed his unusual restlessness 
and called to him, “Eddie.” 

“Yes, Ellen,” and he stopped in front of her. 

‘ ‘ Sit down, I want to speak to you. ’ ’ 

“What is it? ”he asked taking a seat. 

“Why don’t you take a trip to Newport?” asked Ellen. 
“Take a trip to Newport! What for?” 

“Oh, Eddie, how dull you are!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is what I mean, Mr. Innocence — go to Newport 
and propose to Gloria.” 

“What is the good if I can’t have her after the proposal. 
Didn’t I ask Mr. Mason if I could speak to his daughter 
and didn’t he tell me she was partly engaged to the son of a 
friend of his?” 

“Well — and didn’t Gloria tell me that she did not love 
the son of her father’s friend, and that she would never marry 
a man if she didn’t love him ? ’ ’ 

“Honestly, Ellen; did she really say that? 0 gee, if I 
thought she cared the least bit for me, I would follow her to the 
ends of the world. ’ ’ 

Ellen smiled. “As last Edgar is beginning to under¬ 
stand what real love is, ’ ’ she thought. 

[290] 


A SPLENDID CHANCE 


“Ellen, isn’t love an awful disease? I realize now how 
much Jim must have suffered when he thought his love for 
you was hopeless.” 

“Yes, Edgar, love is a terrible disease hut its pain is 
delicious.” 

“Say, Ellen — did Gloria ever speak about me to you?” 

“Not her lips — but her eyes did. I could see them follow 
you wherever you went and if you were not persistently blind 
you could have seen how much she cared for you.” 

“Goodness-gracious, Ellen, you make my heart jump like 
fury! Oh, why didn’t I know it yesterday?” 

“It is not too late now.” 

“Tomorrow I go to Newport.” 

“Tell me, Eddie, didn’t you really know that Gloria 
loved you ? ’ ’ 

“Upon my honor, Ellen, I did not — in fact I do not 
know now if she really cares for me — I am taking it for 
granted from what you are telling me. ’ ’ 

“It is not only what I think, Eddie, every member of the 
family noticed it — even little Ruth asked me the other day 
if Miss Gloria would soon be her Aunt Gloria.” 

Edgar laughed. “The dear little kid,” he said. “Say, 
Ellen,” he added, “if a girl loves a fellow why does she run 
away from him? I have seen you run away from Jim many 
times and still you loved him. Now if Gloria is in love with me, 
she did the same thing. The other day she was sitting on the 
bench in the garden and when I came up to her her face grew 
red and after making some excuse she ran into the house. Is 
that a sure sign a girl is in love ? ’ ’ 

Ellen laughed. “Yes, Eddie,” she said, “if a girl is not 
sure that the man she loves returns her affections she tries to 
hide her own by avoiding him. Take for instance, the case of 
Jim and myself — not until a few weeks ago did I know that 
he loved me but I knew I loved him and so whenever he came 

[291] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


upon me unexpectedly my heart would jump up in my throat 
and I would begin to tremble all over — naturally I ran 
away if there was a chance for I did not want him to know 
how much I cared for him. Perhaps that is why Gloria ran 
away from you.” 

“Aren’t girls funny?” said Edgar. ‘If she runs away 
each time he comes near her what chance is there for him to 
propose ?” 

“Oh, Eddie, you stupid! if a girl knows for sure that he 
loves her she will run to him instead of away the same as I 
did when I knew that Jim loved me. It is a man’s duty to let 
a girl know he loves her.” 

‘ ‘ But how can he, if she runs away ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Then he should run after her. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ellen, you are a clever girl. Tomorrow I shall run after 
Gloria.” Then he added, “Ell, when I held her hands yester¬ 
day to say goodbye, they were cold and a little shaky—she 
looked me straight in the face for a moment as though she 
was asking a question and then she looked down and her 
cheeks were red as they were the day she ran away from me 
— Ell, is that the way a girl acts if she wants to find out if a 
fellow is in love with her?” 

“Sometimes it is. I looked the question to Jim though 
my lips were shut. What did you say to her then?” 

“I had no guess as to why she was blushing so, but I 
looked at her and wondered at her loveliness — she was so 
sweet and tempting that I could hardly resist taking her in 
my arms but I had to content myself with holding her hands 
and she did not seem to mind it in the least.” 

“Oh, Eddie, Eddie, how hopelessty stupid you are!” 

“Well, Ellen, this game is new to me, but I am beginning 
to learn it. ’ ’ 

As he was leaving the room, Ellen called him back. 
“Eddie, if you are going to Newport tomorrow take this,” 

[292] 


A SPLENDID CHANCE 


and as she spoke, she handed him a diamond scarf pin. He 
looked at her in surprise. 

‘ ‘ This belongs to Mr. Mason — I noticed him wearing it 
on Monday and I found it on the floor in the hall after they 
left. I sent a telegram to him that I had found it for I felt 
sure he would miss it on his arrival home. This will give you 
a splendid opportunity to go to Newport for it would not be 
safe to send it by mail. 

“Gee, this is great,” cried Edgar, hugging Ellen —“what 
a splendid chance for a fellow to run after a girl!” he said, 
taking the pin. 

“You must be careful not to lose it, Eddie.” 

“You bet your sweet life I will.” 


[293] 


CHAPTER XL 


The Diamond Pin 

M R. MASON and Gloria were seated at a small round 
table having tea. They had arrived an hour ago from 
their Westwood trip and the kind hospitality of the 
Randolphs still lingered in their minds. 

“Papa, where is your diamond scarf pin?” asked Gloria. 
“Look at your tie, it is all mashed up.” 

“My scarf pin,” said Mr. Mason in surprise, at the 
same time running his hand nervously up and down his 
collar, “why, Gloria, I must have lost it. Call Gibbs, and tell 
him to look in the car, it may have fallen out while we were 
riding. ’ ’ 

When Gibbs returned and said that he had made diligent 
search but had found no sign of a stickpin, Mr. Mason was 
very much troubled about it. “It was your Christmas gift 
to me, Gloria, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ and I should feel very sorry if it is 
really lost . 9 ’ 

Gloria left her place at the table and came and sat beside 
him. “Don’t mind, Daddy dear,” she said patting his cheek, 
‘ ‘ Christmas will soon be here again — all you have to do is to 
give me the money and I will buy you another one. ’ 9 

At that moment a telegram was brought to Mr. Mason. 
It was the one Ellen had sent informing them that the pin had 
been found and that it would be sent to them safely. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Daddy, isn’t she a dear to let us know so soon ? ’ 9 
“Yes,” said Mr. Mason very much relieved, “she cer¬ 
tainly was very kind and thoughtful.” 

[294] 


THE DIAMOND PIN 


“I wonder how she will send it—It is such a small thing 
to send by express and it is liable to get lost if sent through 
the mail.” 

“Perhaps some member of the family may come to visit 
us, they all promised to do so before long.” And Gloria 
silently hoped that Edgar would be the first visitor. 

“Gloria,” said her father the next day, “Walter is com¬ 
ing over this afternoon and please, dear, be at home to receive 
him. The poor fellow is anxious to settle down and wants to 
have a decided answer.” 

“A decided answer about what?” 

II Gloria, don’t pretend that you do not know — it is high 
time you treated that boy differently. He loves you de¬ 
votedly. ’’ 

“You mean, Daddy dear, that he loves your money very 
devotedly. ’’ 

II I think you are wronging him, and remember he is the 
son of my dead friend and — and — Gloria, my child, ’ ’ he 
added, in a voice that was husky with emotion, 11 1 would like 
to see you married and settled before my end comes,” and a 
deep sigh completed his sentence. 

Gloria noticed that her father exhibited a great deal of 
feeling when he spoke of her future. She went to him and 
put her arms lovingly around his neck, “Papa dear,” she 
said, “it would kill me to do anything to displease you, but 
when it comes to choosing a husband you must let me decide 
for myself.” 

“But Gloria, you are half-engaged to him. I promised—” 

“Daddy,” she interrupted, “we are not living in the dark 
ages when parents used to contract marriages for their chil¬ 
dren — and please do not ask me to meet him,— I detest him 
so.” 

The girl was pale and anxious now — her eyes eloquent 
with pleading and as she spoke her head fell on his shoulder 

[ 2 95 ] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


and she burst into a passion of tears. Her soft pleading tones 
and passionate weeping had their effect upon the anxious 
father. Kind-hearted and generous-natured, he could not 
withstand the repugnance that his daughter exhibited to the 
marriage which he had hoped might take place soon. 

He took her hands in his and looking gravely but kindly 
into Gloria’s troubled eyes, he said, “My dear child, a man’s 
word once given in good faith is hard to break but if it makes 
you so unhappy, we will not speak about it again. Up to this 
time I have thought you were just teasing the boy — your 
mother kept me guessing for a long time and I thought all 
girls were alike. ’ ’ 

Smiling now, she raised her head and covered his face 
with grateful kisses and then ran out of the room. Mr. Mason 
remained for some time in deep thought. 

‘ ‘ My poor motherless child, ’ ’ he sighed and unconsciously 
his thoughts went back to the beautiful home in Westwood 
which they had left three days ago. He thought of the loving, 
motherly care Mrs. Randolph had lavished on his daughter and 
a feeling of regret came to him. He wished he had not been so 
hasty in telling Edgar that Gloria was as good as engaged. 

Edgar’s honorable and manly behavior in coming to him 
before he spoke to Gloria won his respect and admiration and 
he wished now that he had given his consent to Edgar’s request 
that he be permitted to tell Gloria of his love for her. Some¬ 
one entering the room disturbed his thoughts. 

“Hulloa, Walter,” Mr. Mason said kindly, holding out 
his hand. He really felt sorry for the boy and dreaded the 
conversation which he knew must soon take place, but he was 
a man who never shrank from his duty and was prepared to 
face the difficulty. 

“Mr. Mason,” said the young man, “you know what I 
came for?” His voice sounded harsh to the sensitive ear of 
the older gentleman. Now he had a chance to compare the 

[296] 


THE DIAMOND PIN 


actions of the young men — Edgar and Walter — he did not 
blame Gloria for loathing the presence of the latter. 

“I am sorry, my boy, but I have had a talk with Gloria. 
She does not love you and I can not force her to marry you 
against her will.” 

‘ ‘ I have expected an answer like this ever since she came 
back from college,” he said, “but I think a man’s pledged 
word should not be so easily broken for a girl’s foolish whim. ’ ’ 

“When I gave you my word I thought that she loved 
you.” 

Walter burst into a hoarse laugh, “I didn’t think you 
were one of the sentimental kind, Mr. Mason,” he said in a 
reproachful tone. 

“Walter,” said the old gentleman, “your father and I 
used to be great friends — from the time we were boys to¬ 
gether at school — and we hoped to be closer still when you 
and Gloria were children, but though she may care for you as 
a friend, she could not love you as a husband and I hardly 
think, Walter, that you would want to marry a girl who did 
not love you.” 

“I would have no objections,” said the young man, “I 
would marry her first and make her love me all the more, 
afterwards.” 

Mr. Mason looked at the stern young face and for the 
first time he realized that there was something savage about 
him. , 

“You have always been rather a stubborn and quick¬ 
tempered youngster, Walter, and many times I have had mis¬ 
givings about you but I did not think that as a man you 
would be so obstinate as to wish to marry a girl against her 
will.” 

For a moment there was silence. At these words Walter’s 
sharp and rather handsome features clouded with temper. 
Finally without a syllable of farewell to the man who had been 

[297] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


almost like a father to him he turned on his heel and left the 
room. 

“Poor boy,” murmured Mr. Mason, nevertheless he was 
glad that he had found strength to free his daughter from a 
hateful alliance and the thought made him happy. 

When Walter walked down the terraced steps, he saw 
Gloria in the garden gathering flowers which she was forming 
into a bouquet. He paused for a moment and watched the 
slim, graceful figure of the girl as she flitted to and fro among 
the flower beds, singing softly to herself. Never before had 
Walter realized how exquisitely beautiful she was. 

Until that moment he had considered her a pretty girl 
that would be thrown-in with the bargain when he should 
marry her father’s great wealth but at that moment it came 
over him with an overwhelming force that not only was he 
going to lose a fortune if he did not marry Gloria but a girl 
that was worth while fighting for. Her beauty had taken hold 
of his evil passions with amazing suddenness. 

With an expression of fiery resolve in his eyes he slowly 
and cautiously walked towards her, just as a wild animal 
when it is ready to spring at its prey. 

When Gloria saw him coming she stopped, and looked 
around for some avenue of escape — like some terrified bird 
threatened in its cage — but there was no way to escape and 
with a forced smile she greeted him in her usual cheerful 
manner. Walter made no reply to her greeting and his first 
words were insolent and aggressive. “So you think you are 
going to escape me, my beauty,” he said, “it will not be so 
easy as you imagine,” he added with a sneer. 

A hot flush swept Gloria’s face as she said, “Why, 
Walter, what has come over you that you should speak to me 
in this rude manner?” She tried to appear indifferent but 
she was terrified when she saw his eyes fixed upon her filled 
with sinister light. 


[298] 


THE DIAMOND PIN 


“What is wrong with me?” he asked in a hoarse voice. 
“As though you do not know!” 

“ I do not understand. What do you mean ?’ 7 

“I mean this, Gloria. Whether willingly or against your 
will, I mean to have you. A man who has considered himself 
engaged to a girl ever since he can remember and then is 
jilted at the last minute is not going to stand for it.” 

A smile half of rage, half of scorn, curled her lips which 
finally relaxed into a clear laugh. “It isn’t my fault,” she 
said, “that you have considered yourself engaged to me. I 
never even thought about it.” 

Walter turned a fiery red—the scorn of that laugh and 
her last words of indifference, stung him and the evil light 
that had for a moment died out of his eyes came back with 
fresh venom. His temper rose again. 

“Gloria, you and I must have an understanding once for 
all,” he said hoarsely, “you can not escape me — I shall have 
you one way or the other — so there is no use for you to keep 
up this game.” 

A burst of indignation filled her splendid eyes with fire 
as she said, “Walter, there can never be an understanding 
between us. I always knew you were not a gentleman and I 
see now I was not misled as to your real nature. I will not 
listen to you any longer,” and as she spoke she turned from 
him. 

“You shall listen to me,” he hissed, blocking her way,— 
all his brutal passion had been aroused as he saw the loathing 
in her eyes. Her indifference and her wonderful beauty mad¬ 
dened him and all the fierce blood in his body surged to his 
heart and made him boil with rage. 

“Let me pass,” she demanded. 

“Not until you pay the price,” and with startling sudden¬ 
ness he made a leap and flinging one arm around her, attempted 

[299] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


to force her averted face towards his own. “I will make you 
love me yet, my proud queen,” he muttered. 

‘ ‘ Let me go! How dare you touch me! ’ ’ she cried strug¬ 
gling with all her might to free herself but she was powerless 
in his iron grasp. Closer he drew her to himself and she felt 
his hot breath across her mouth. A disgusted shudder shook 
her body. Walter felt it and a fierce, wicked laugh burst from 
his lips, “I told you I would have you one way or another 
and if it should cost me my life I will-” 

One sharp cry — one look — and her strength gave way. 
Gloria fell to the ground quivering like a shot bird. As she 
fell she saw a man’s figure across the lawn and recognized the 
tall form of Edgar. Then a powerful blow followed and 
Walter Holden went reeling to the ground and struck with a 
crash against a stone urn that held some beautiful and rare 
flowering plants. 

Gloria remembered afterwards as one takes up the painful 
visions of a dream the deadly venom of those black eyes — 
the gray whiteness of the sinister face and the curse that 
came from between those clenched teeth. She also saw the 
slow retreat during which the threatening features were 
turned upon Edgar. Then all was a blank — she had fainted 
away. 


[300] 



CHAPTER XLI 


The Proposal 

E DGAR lifted the unconscious girl and carried her to a 
little summer house which he saw a few feet away. In 
his anxiety he did not realize that as yet he was almost 
a stranger to the girl he held so tenderly close to his heart 
and if he took undue liberties he was not aware of the fact. All 
he was conscious was that he loved her. Ellen had told him 
that it was the duty of a man to let the woman he loves know 
that he loves her and to the best of his ability he was going 
to let Gloria know how much he loved her, if only she would 
open her eyes again. For some time it almost seemed as if she 
were dead, she lay so limp and helpless close to his bosom, but 
the tender words that arose to his lips, the burning kisses he 
rained down upon her brought a stir of life back to her heart 
and waking with a dim sense of danger she clung to him, 
smiling yet in tears. 

‘ ‘ Where is he ? Is he gone ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, dear — Miss Mason.” 

‘‘Oh, how he frightened me! M 

“I don’t wonder,” said Edgar gently, “his savage face 
as I saw it when I came up, would frighten a giant. Was it 
your watch he was after?” 

“Oh no,” she said, and realizing that she still lay in his 
arms, she caught her breath with a quick gasp and gently 
disengaged herself. The natural color was gradually coming to 
her face and the delicate pink on her velvety cheeks now 
flamed scarlet as she sat down on the rustic bench and he sat 

[301] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


down beside her. Edgar bent his head, resting his chin on 
his hand the better to look at her. This time he did surmise the 
cause of the vivid blush on her sweet face. 

‘ ‘ If that scoundrel was not a thief and was not after your 
watch what was it he was after?” 

“He — he — he wanted to kiss me against my will.” 

“Kiss you!” cried Edgar and an angry flush darkened 
his face, “I would like to see him try it again,” and the 
threatening look in Edgar’s blue-black eyes made Gloria 
smile. 

“Do vou know him?” he asked. 

“Yes, he is a friend of ours.” 

“He did not seem to much of a friend judging by his 
treatment of you.” 

‘ ‘ Something made him very angry, ’ ’ said Gloria lowering 
her eyes. 

“And yet he wanted to kiss you?”, 

‘ ‘ It was in spite because I had told him what I thought of 
him. ’ ’ 

“I wish I had the chance,” said Edgar still frowning, “I 
would tell him what I think of him and his friendship.” 

Gloria laughed and when she did laugh she was irresis¬ 
tibly pretty. The dimples in her cheeks showed and so did her 
exquisitely perfect teeth and her cherry lips w^ere temptingly 
sweet — the lips Edgar adored and wished he could kiss again. 

He regarded her with such frank admiration that Gloria 
had to turn her face from him. For some time there was an 
awkward silence. 

“Glor — Miss Mason,” said Edgar in a faltering voice, 
‘ ‘ Ellen told me that if a man loves a girl it is his duty to tell 

her and I—I—came-Oh, hang it! I dont know how to 

say it—” and jumping up, his face as red as that of the girl 
who so eagerly listened, waiting for the words she so longed 

[302] 



THE PROPOSAL 


to hear. ‘ ‘ What is it you can’t say, Mr. Randolph ? ’ ’ she asked 
her voice trembling between smiles and tears. 

“That I love you.” 

“You said it.” 

He looked at her with a dazed expression, “Hid I really?” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“And you don’t mind?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“Oh Gloria, my darling, precious sweetheart,” he cried, 
drawing her close to him — so close that she almost cried out 
at the delicious pain of it. Those adored cherry lips with 
glistening pearls between were near him now and with the 
rapture of youth he took advantage of their sweetness. 

Mr. Mason was sitting by the little tea table reading the 
Evening News and every now and then he would look at the 
clock on the mantel — he was of old English stock and enjoyed 
his four o ’clock tea and was a little annoyed by his daughter’s 
tardy appearance. Somebody rushed into the room and a pair 
of soft white arms were around his neck. 

“Oh, Papa darling,” cried Gloria, “something wonderful 
has happened today. Something you never could guess.” 

“How many guesses do you give me?” asked her father 
forgetting his annoyance about the delayed tea as long as 
those loving arms were around him. 

“Papa,” she commenced — then for the first time, the 
straight-forward Gloria stammered a little and seemed unable 
to speak about the wonderful thing that had happened. 

“Well, Gloria,” said Mr. Mason, “I am waiting and the 
tea is getting cold.” 

“Edgar Randolph is here —he came to bring your pin 
and—” 

“It was very kind of him,” interrupted Mr. Mason, “to 
take the trouble to come himself with it.” 

[303] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“But he wants a reward,” said Gloria, her eyes brimming 
with mischief. 

‘ ‘ A reward! ’ ’ said Mr. Mason in surprise and then seeing 
the merry twinkle in her eyes he asked, “What is the joke?” 

“Well, Daddy, in return for the pin, Edgar wants you to 
give him your good-for-nothing daughter.” 

Unconsciously Mr. Mason gave a sigh of relief. “Where 
is he?” he asked in a somewhat shaky voice. It was wonder¬ 
fully good news to him indeed but it came so suddenly that 
it took his breath away. 

Edgar who stood near the door watching the loving scene 
between father and daughter came forward holding out his 
hand. 

“Glad to see you, my boy,” said Mr. Mason trying to 
appear calm, though he could hardly stand his limbs were 
trembling so, “take a seat. After tea we will talk the matter 
over. ’ ’ 

“There is nothing to talk over,” said wilful Gloria, 
“everything is planned and settled. We will be married the 
first of next June, the same day Ellen and Jim are married, 
and after our honeymoon we will settle down to keeping house 
in Westwood. ” 

“You seem to have everything arranged in pretty good 
shape, my child,” said her father smiling, yet more or less 
sad at the thought that sooner or later he would have to part 
with her and altho he wished to see her happily married, 
nevertheless his heart ached. 

“0, Eddie and I have talked about it the whole afternoon, 
and Papa,” she added, “you know Edgar is not satisfied to 
take your daughter alone — he wants her father in the 
bargain. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Mr. Mason,” said Edgar, “Gloria will never be 
happy when away from you and since she will have to live in 

[ 304 ] 


THE PROPOSAL 


Westwood, you will be obliged to come too and we shall all be 
very happy to have you make your home with us.” 

Mr. Mason was silent for sometime. With a great effort 
he tried to overcome his emotion and when he spoke his voice 
was calm though his heart was thrilling, “My dear boy, I 
should be delighted to make my home with such nice people 
as you and your family are but I could not take advantage 
of their kind hospitality — I may consider disposing of our 
property in New York and in Newport and build a home in 
Westwood. ” 

“If you build a house in Westwood, Daddy dear,” said 
Gloria, “remember it must be one of those up-to-date bunga¬ 
lows — large houses are out of date. ’ ’ 


[ 305 ] 


CHAPTER XLII 


The Would-be Assassin 

W HEN Gloria ran to dress for dinner, Edgar sat down 
to write to Ellen—he told her everything that had 
happened from the minute he reached the home of Mr. 
Mason and gave a very comic account of how he had had to 
knock a fellow down before he could reach his princess. Not 
wishing to trouble any of the household help, he went out to 
mail the letter himself. 

On his way back just as he was about to mount the ter¬ 
raced steps the sharp report of a gun ran through the air and 
a bullet whizzed by Edgar’s ears. The flash almost blinded 
him and he stood for a moment dazed, hardly realizing his 
narrow escape. With the shot still ringing in his ears and the 
memory of a voice which he recognized muttering an oath, he 
continued mounting the steps. 

Gloria heard the shot and knowing Edgar had gone out 
a few moments before, a fear pierced her heart. Scarcely did 
the sound of the gun reach her when quick as lightning she 
flew down the stairs and in the hall came face to face with 
Edgar who smiled at her. With a deep sigh of relief, she 
reached up her arms and flung herself on his breast. “Oh, 
Edgar,” she sobbed, “I thought you were killed.” 

“I w r ould have been,” he said laughing and holding her 
close to him, ‘ ‘ if the bullet had not missed me by the sixteenth 
of an inch.” Gloria clung to him as if afraid he was still in 
danger. She was dressed in a soft floating evening gown 
and as Edgar felt her soft, bare arms around him and her 



With a deep sigh of relief, she reached up her arms and flung herself on 
his breast. “Oh, Edgar,” she sobbed, “I thought you were killed.” 





THE WOULD-BE ASSASSIN 


heaving bosom pressing against his heart, he was thankful 
to the would-be assassin who had made it possible that he 
should enjoy so precious a moment. 

“My darling,” he said, kissing her pale lips, “there is 
nothing more to fear.” 

“Do you know who did it?” she asked in a voice quiver¬ 
ing with suppressed sobs. 

“I think it was that kissing bug I knocked down this 
afternoon.” 

Gloria shuddered. ‘ ‘ Are you sure ? ’’ 

“I did not see his face but I heard his voice.” 

■‘ Did he speak to you ? ’ ’ 

“Nothing that is interesting for an angel like you to 
hear.” 

“Oh, Edgar! he means to kill you and I — I — am 
afraid you are still in danger. He will not rest until he has 
taken his revenge for the blow you gave him. ’ ’ 

“Don’t worry, dearest, he will not get another chance.” 

Just then the butler appeared — a triumphant expression 
upon his face. “Miss Mason,” he asked, “what shall I do with 
the man ? ’ ’ 

“With what man, Jacob?” 

“With Mr. Walter Holden.” 

Edgar and Gloria exchanged looks. “ Is he is this house ? ’ ’ 
asked Edgar in surprise. 

“Yes, sir. Gibbs and me — we both heard the report of 
a gun and we run out to see what had happened and we see a 
man runnin’ across the lawn — we took after him and caught 
him by the leg just as he was trying to jump over the stone 
wall.” 

‘‘Where is he now?” asked Gloria. 

“In the basement, tied hand and foot.” 

“I don’t think we can do anything about it until your 

[307] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


father comes, ” said Edgar addressing Gloria who stood there 
trembling from head to foot. 

“Oh no, Edgar! Father must not know that anything 
has happened. It would break his heart if he knew what a 
fiend the son of his dead friend has turned out to be,” then 
without warning she ran to the telephone and called police 
headquarters. 

“Hulloa, I want to speak to Chief Swan.” Edgar heard 
her say, “Is this the chief? This is Miss Mason speaking”— 
and she told what had happened, then she added, “Remember 
everything must be done on the quiet. I don’t want father to 
know anything about it. Thank you,” and she hung up the 
receiver. 

“Jacob,” she said, “they will be here in a few minutes 
to take him away and please tell Gibbs and the others not to 
mention a word about it to father.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said the butler marveling at the clever¬ 
ness of the young lady. 

When Gloria turned with a smile towards Edgar the 
color rushed to her cheeks vivid as a flame for she noticed 
the look of astonishment and frank admiration in his eyes. 

“Gloria,” he said, taking her hands, “I always thought 
that Ellen was an exceedingly clever girl, but you beat her.” 

Mr. Mason, who had spent the rest of the afternoon with 
a friend playing chess, came up at this moment and dinner 
was served in the usual quiet way. If Gloria seemed a little 
nervous and excited, the father took no notice of it—“all 
girls were more or less excited and nervous on the day they 
become engaged,” he thought, and so the evening passed 
pleasantly as though nothing had occurred to disturb the 
peace of the household. 

The next morning Edgar and Gloria rode down to police 
headquarters. There was a confidential talk in the Chief’s 

[3o8] 


THE WOULD-BE ASSASSIN 


private office and the result was that Walter was let out on 
bail. 

On their way back, Edgar said, “Poor fellow, I can’t help 
being sorry for him. It must be pretty tough for a man to 
lose a girl like you, Gloria,” and as he spoke he snuggled 
close to her. 

“If I thought that he cared for me I would feel more 
sorry for him but it was my father’s wealth he was after. I 
am glad it is all over and that we were able to keep it out of 
the newspapers.” 

So am I,” said Edgar, “if the papers made a fuss about 
it all the members of my family would have been here by 
now,” he added laughingly. 

“Was it to Canada, Walter is to go?” asked Gloria. 

‘ ‘ I think so. ’ ’ 

“Do you think he will ever come back?” 

“If he does he will be a better man—we treated him 
mighty decent.” 

“I hope he will be different. My father took a great 
deal of interest in him and he would feel terrible if he knew 
what has happened.” 

Happy as a lark—yet disappointed because he could not 
have Gloria with him, Edgar returned to his home a week 
later. The habit he had to pace the floor with his hands in 
his pockets, when worried about something developed into 
a daily occupation with him. One day when he was unusually 
restless because there was no letter from Gloria, Ellen said, 
“Edgar, how does it feel to be really in love?” 

“Oh, Ellen, it is just as you once said—A Delicious 

pain!” 


[309] 


CHAPTER XLIII 




A Delicious Sin 

A T LAST the first of June arrived—the happiest day of 
all days for the two young couples—there was to be a 
double wedding and the Randolph home was brilliantly 
lighted and in pleasant confusion. Even the children were to 
be permitted to take part in the wedding festivities and the 
result was that the next morning the nursery was in great 
confusion. 

Ruth was playing bride—Henry bridegroom and a dozen 
or more dolls were sitting around the room, supposed to be 
wedding guests. The doll’s table was set with all doll’s dishes 
ready for the wedding breakfast. 

As the bridegroom went up to kiss his bride, his foot 
caught in the leg of the table and all the pretty china 
dishes went smash. The little bride pushed the somewhat 
ashamed bridegroom from her and began to cry, telling him 
through her tears that she was not going to marry him—she 
did not want a stupid husband. 

Henry had a little temper of his own and his little foot 
went up in the air and down went a chair with one of Ruth’s 
prettiest dolls—the one her Aunt Alice had given her for a 
birthday present the week before. When Ruth picked up the 
doll from the floor and found that its head was cracked, her 
own little heart was almost as badly hurt, as she told her 
Aunt Alice to whom she came with her troubles. 

Dr. White dressed in his surgical white uniform was 
bending over an electrical apparatus sterilizing some instru- 

[3io] 





A DELICIOUS SIN 


ments. He was disturbed in his work by a timid knock and 
in walked his little niece, Ruth—her rosy cheeks stained 
with recent tears—her cherub mouth quivering and her big 
brown eyes looking at him appealingly. In her arms she 
cuddled a doll the same as a mother does when her baby has 
fallen. 

“Look, Uncle Hen’wy, what has happened to my baby 
dolly. She is bwoke. Will you op’uate on her head?” 

Dr. White took the doll and gave it a thorough examin¬ 
ation a mock professional expression on his face although 
his eyes were brimful of fun and his lips twitched with 
suppressed laughter that he tried to control. Ruth watched 
her uncle with anxious eyes, “Can you make her head g’wo 
together, Uncle?” she asked, her face still quivering in the 
effort to hold back the tears. 

“I think I can, Ruth,” said Dr. White good naturedly, 
“but you will have to leave her in the hospital for a few 
days. ’ ’ While he was talking with the child he was wondering 
how long it would take china cement to dry after being applied 
to a crack, “How did it happen, Ruth?” he asked, “You are 
always so careful with your dollies.” 

“It is all Henwy’s fault. He kicked the chair and 
Dolly fell face down.” 

“Why did he do that?” 

“Because I—I said he was stupid.” 

“Where is Henry now?” 

“He is in the nursery and as she spoke, she pulled Dr. 
White by the sleeve and said in a pleading voice, “0. please 
don’t punish Henwy any more—Aunt Alice did and it almost 
bwoke my heart?” 

“What did Aunt Alice do to him?” asked Dr. White 
trying to be very serious. 

She—she—” and two tears formed in her eyes and threat¬ 
ened to fall again, “she put him in the baby’s high chair 

[3ii] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


r 


and put a bib aw’ound his neck and made him hold a baby 
wattle in his hand.” 

Dr. White smiled as he thought of his wife’s mild, yet 
effective idea of punishment for their son who at times proved 
to be somewhat hard to manage. 

‘‘What did Henry do when Aunt Alice put him in the 
chair?” he asked greatly amused at the child’s distress, “did 
he cry?” 

“No. but his eyes were wet and it made me cwy.” 

Dr. White lifting the child placed her on his shoulders 
saying. “Don’t mind, dearie. Henry was a naughty boy and 
deserved his punishment.” Ruth who loved to sit on her 
Uncle’s shoulders soon forgot her sorrows. Her chubby little 
hands soon got busy muddling up his thick, wavy hair and 
she was laughing as though nothing had ever happened to 
her favorite doll. 

“Come Ruth,” he said, “Let us go and see how Henry 
takes his punishment.” 

“Dr. White found Alice sitting on the floor in her room 
with Baby Gladys turning the pages of a linen picture book. 
The happy husband and father gazed with infinite tenderness 
first at his wife—then at the sweet little child who was rattling 
the papers and cooing with joy. 

Alice looked up to him and smiled. “Where is Ruth?” 
she asked. “With her mother,’’ he answered throwing himself 
on the floor and taking both her hands, drawing her to him, 
and teasing for a kiss which he was always determined to get 
when he held her in that position. 

‘ ‘ Henry! for shame, ’ ’ said Alice putting her hand to her 
cheeks which were now burning from the warm kisses which 
he had lavished upon them for the one he had received from 
her—you are the father of two children now, and yet you act 
like a schoolboy.” 

“When it comes to loving you, my sweetheart,” he said, 

[ 312 ] 


A DELICIOUS SIN 


“I shall never grow old—besides with each child you grow 
dearer and nearer to me.” 

“What would happen if there were a dozen of them?” she 
asked with a mischievous look in her superb blue eyes. 

“Then nothing would satisfy me except to lie at your 
feet and worship you. ” As he spoke he took her in his arms 
again and many more kisses covered her sweet lips which she 
accepted unresistingly now for she was overcome with the 
happy feeling equal to his. For some time she lay in his arms 
happy and contented. Then she thought of little Henry whose 
time was up to leave the high chair. 

“I must go to Henry,” she said rising from her position 
on the floor with the aid of her husband. 

“That reminds me,” he said, “I came here purposely to 
see hbw our naughty little son bears his punishment. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Henry,” said Alice “I will kiss you again if you 
will not go to the nursery.’ 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because I think it would break his little heart to have 
his daddy see him in such a predicament—being treated like 
a baby.” Henry noticed there was tears in Alice’s eyes and 
she really seemed to be distressed. He looked at her for a 
moment—then an amused smile spread over his face, ‘ ‘ 0, you 
cry-baby-wife of mine,” he said, “it seems to me that when 
you punish Henry you punish yourself more severely.” 

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, yet smiling through her 
tears, “I never forget that I was a child myself and how I 
used to feel when mother punished me for being naughty.” 

“You naughty, Alice!” he said, “that could not be 
possible. ’ ’ 

“Henry, Love is blind. Wasn’t I naughty the day I 
tore my hair ribbon to tie the bunch of violets that I gave to 

you?” 

“0, Alice, my beloved,” he said, “ I shall never forget 

[3i3] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


that day. It seems to me that that bit of ribbon has tied our 
hearts together ever since.” As he spoke he took her face 
between his hands and drew it to his own, ‘ ‘ That kiss you 
promised, sweetheart? and I will not go to the nursery.” 

Their lips met. 

“Henry,” said Alice, “sometimes I think it is almost a 
sin to be so supremely happy.” 

“Then it is a harmless and delicious sin, my dear Alice 
and I hope to be a sinner all my life.” 





[3i4] 


CHAPTER XLIV 


Our Love Is So Heavenly 

T HE SAME afternoon Dr. Drake was sitting on a bench 
under an old oak tree, smoking his pipe. A smile of 
content was on his lips—he loved to see people happy 
and the two young couples were certainly happy as they went 
away for a brief wedding trip on the Continent, but the chief 
cause for his smile and what had made his kind heart rejoice 
was the fact that he had overheard part of the talk between 
Alice and her husband during the time their son Henry was 
undergoing his unique punishment, “God bless them all,” he 
murmured to himself,” they all deserve to be happy.” 

Richard at that moment, came up and threw himself on 
the grass near his friend and a sigh of relief escaped him. 
“It feels good to have a day of quiet after a week of excite¬ 
ment,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Dr. Drake, “It certainly has been a week of 
excitement and the house will be rather quiet without their 
merry chatter and laughter. I hope you will be able to 
persuade Mr. Mason to remain with us. Poor man, he did 
seem lonely this morning. I think it is a very foolish idea 
he has of building a home for his daughter, when this house is 
large enough to hold twice as many.” 

“I did remonstrate with him,” replied Richard, “and he 
has consented.” 

“You did!” said Dr. Drake in surprise, “How did you 
manage it?” 


[3i5] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


“After a long argument and reasoning, he at last con¬ 
sented to remain with us because I told him it was mother’s 
wish that her children should not leave home, even after 
marriage.” 

‘ ‘ I am not surprised that he consented in that case, ’ ’ said 
Dr. Drake an expression of amusement spreading over his 
good-natured face, “he w r ould do most anything to please 
your mother.” 

Richard looked up quickly and smiled at his friend, ‘ 1 Did 
you notice it?” he asked. 

“Did I notice it? I would be blind not to see that he 
worships your mother. I asked him the other day why he had 
not married again and his reply was that not until he met 
Mrs. Randolph did he think that any other woman could take 
the place of Gloria’s mother with him. You know his wife 
died when Gloria was a little girl.” 

Richard was silent for some time—then he said, “It 
would be a most desirable arrangement—but—mother idolized 
my father—and she still reveres his memory.” 

“Nonsense!” said Dr. Drake with an impatient gesture, 
“You are too sentimental, my boy. Wait until you reach my 
age and you will realize that as we advance in years there 
comes an evolutionary change in the feelings of the heart 
and our habits of living. If your mother should consent 
to marry Mr. Mason, it would be a union based upon the 
principles of respect and affection—companionship is what the 
human heart longs for with advancing years—love and 
passion give away to these other sentiments as the years roll 
by.” 

‘ ‘ While your mother may still idolize the memory of your 
father as the lover of her youth, yet I have no doubt that 
she will soon succumb to the natural longing for companion¬ 
ship. She can not remain indifferent much longer. Take my 
word, before the summer is over, we will have another 


OUR LOVE IS SO HEAVENLY 


marriage. Mr. Mason’s devotion will awaken an answering 
tenderness in her heart.” 

“I hope so,” said Richard, “I have a very high respect 
for Mr. Mason and in many ways he reminds me of my dear 
father. ’ ’ 

“Let me see,” said Dr. Drake counting on his fingers, 
“That will make us six grown-up couples and two small 
couples. ’ ’ 

“How do you make out two small couples?” asked Rich¬ 
ard, “at the present time there is only one and a half in the 
nursery. ’ ’ 

Dr. Drake made no reply. 

Richard glanced quickly at his friend—their eyes met 
and as a cloud is sometimes suddenly swept from the blue sky 
so did a certain worried expression leave Richard’s face, for of 
late he had been worried about Florence. In fact, it was to 
speak to Dr. Drake regarding her that he had sought his old 
friend and physician that afternoon. 

“I have been anxious about Florence lately,” he said, 
“I had thought it was her unceasing labors for the Orphan 
Asylum that was making her so nervous and restless of late, 
and I wanted to speak to you regarding her state of health.” 

“There is no reason whatever, to worry about Florence,” 
said the doctor, “she is young and healthy—in fact you are 
exaggerating her symptons. Only yesterday I remarked to 
my wife how Florence is developing from a sweet and pretty 
girl into a strikingly beautiful woman and the same may be 
said about Alice—those two girls are a wonder to me—were 
I a dozen years younger, you and Henry would have good 
reason to be jealous of me.” 

This talk was interrupted by little Henry who ran up to 
his Uncle Richard and climbed upon his shoulder. Richard 
tossed the little fellow in the air, and made him shout with 
glee, and then he told him to run into the house like a good 

[3i7] 


THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


boy and tell Annt Florence Uncle Richard was waiting for 
her to take their walk. 

In a few minutes Richard saw his wife coming slowly 
towards him. Dr. Drake was right—he thought. Never in 
the whole wide world was there a woman more beautiful and 
graceful than Florence looked to him. She wore an empire 
gown and the loose folds added grace to her splendidly devel¬ 
oped form while it concealed signs of early motherhood. 

Florence felt that the two men were watching her in a 
significant manner and she turned her blushing face from 
them. Her womanly reserve made her so sweet that Richard 
could hardly restrain himself from taking her in his arms 
right there and then, but the presence of Dr. Drake made him 
resist the temptation. 

Waving goodbye to their friend they walked slowly 
down the narrow paths towards the woods. For some time 
they were silent then Richard squeezed the little hand that 
held his arm and said, “Florence, beloved, Dr. Drake has 
told me. How do you feel?” 

“I feel very well and happy,” Florence replied quietly. 

Before marriage, when Richard had looked at Florence, 
Love and Passion had shone in his eyes; after marriage the 
expression had changed into worship and reverence but as he 
bent his head to look into her sweet, blushing face at this 
moment, the whole four—love—passion—worship and rever¬ 
ence were combined in the look. 

Walking to a rock half-imbedded in the earth Florence 
sat down to rest—it was a place where they loved to linger 
for this was where they had met for the first time when they 
were boy and girl. 

Richard threw himself at her feet and rested his head 
in her lap, looking up to her while she playfully was running 
her little soft hands through his wavy brown hair. She bent 
her head and looked at him with such tender lovelight in her 


OUR LOVE IS SO HEAVENLY 


ej^es that it made his whole body quiver with emotion. 
Raising himself on his elbows he put his arms around her 
waist and drew her close to him saying, “Florence, my sweet 
wife, sometimes I think our love is not real— it is so 
heavenly. ’ ’ 

Florence bent her head a little lower; Richard drew her 
face to his bosom and kissed it with tender reverence. 


Richard, the radical millionaire as the world calls him 
is still a friend of the oppressed. His great inheritance has 
made no change in either his career or his character. He has 
proved himself to be a whole-hearted philanthropist and his 
sympathy for human suffering in whatever guise it may come 
is always practically demonstrated. As a lawyer, he gains 
wide-spread fame—and as an employer he is greatly beloved. 

He has disposed of his shares in the anthracite coal mines 
and rebuilt the Great Iron Works on the vacant lot where 
the Ellsmere Iron Works once stood. In this he fulfilled his 
wife’s cherished wish. 

Where Mr. Ellsmere had ruled as a tyrant over his army 
of workmen, Richard rules as a benign and fatherly king with 
better results to owner and operators than the works had ever 
before afforded. 

After the re-establishment of the great iron factory, 
Richard invited Florence to accompany him on a tour of in¬ 
spection and her pleased surprise and joy at the marked 
difference from the former establishment was ample reward 
for his patient toil. 

Not only was there vast improvement in the structure 
itself and the modern machinery with which it had been fully 
equipped—but—that which meant far more than all else to 
Florence—the attitude of workmen as she passed through the 
spacious building beside her husband. She recalled with pain 
her last visit to the old building with her father—the sullen 

l>9] 



THE RADICAL MILLIONAIRE 


faces of the men—the muttered sarcasm and sneers that had 
fallen from the smoke-blackened lips. How vividly came back 
to her the memory of her father’s indifference to the dspair of 
the men as voiced by the manager—his burst of indignant 
fury at the “disloyalty” of his slaves. 

What a change indeed! Now her noble husband was 
received as a king among men and she was happy in respond¬ 
ing to the cheery greetings of the wives and children who had 
been waiting for her coming with offerings of flowers. The men 
were politely eager to answer questions and she noted with 
much pleasure the general air of contentment, gratitude and 
hope. 

It was after the occasion of the visit to the Iron Works 
that the modest, diffident young wife displayed to the fu 1 ! 
extent the treasure of her affectionate admiration for her 
noble husband: clasping her arms around him—her lips 
against his, she murmured, “My beloved, how true were your 
words when you said that one cannot create true glory for 
himself without contributing in some form to the happiness 
of others! ’ 9 


THE END 






























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